By Richard Stimac
Violence is the language of men. We will never learn to change
the voice of the Muse when her tongue penetrates our lips
and her voice, coming in our throat, sings, sings of the wrath
of Achilles denied the right to rape Briseis as war booty.
Men long for the honor of other men. Women serve only
as means. When, in my mind’s eye, I saw the Cheiron-trained
swing his battle axe as if a woodsman felling trees,
I saw him side-eye Patroclus. For the love of God,
Hector would one day strip Patroclus naked,
leave him in rot under the Anatolian sun. Achilles rue
determined the fate of history. Our words, men,
are the Law. We speak only to each other.
If you desire to don the mantle of The Man,
you dress in brutality. Everything else is fiction.
_________________________
Richard Stimac has published a poetry book Bricolage (Spartan Press), two poetry chapbooks, and one flash fiction chapbook. In his work, Richard explores time and memory through the landscape and humanscape of the St. Louis region.
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