Ganymede
Mythology: the beautiful mortal conscripted to be a cup-bearer among the gods
I am aghast
at how drunk a god can get.
Ambrosia has a kick.
Half my job is taking empties back.
In the kitchen of Olympus,
I chugged some down, enough
that I got chatty with Aphrodite,
could feel her eyes on my ass
when I left the room.
Next morning was a headache
like a spike of sunlight,
pain the size of a moon.
I have to see the alchemist. Maybe the blacksmith,
who anneals taking with restraint.
Alloys are duller, but of greater use.
How do they do it, night after night?
The lute music, the copulating with youth?
