(i) Athena and Her Protégé
In the beginning I turned to Snake-Eyes and Timber.
That was my first myth — all mask and black and fang and claw —
stories sold by the Hasbros of the War Machine. They
secured the beachhead and stayed.
I studied their lines of grinding and aloofness. Of deadliness.
Now only my teeth
are seen when I go underneath
after the shootings, after the foundation-shaking
bombs.
There, in the dark, I strip
and reach for lifelines
dropped from choppers hovering just above.
From the jungle-green shadows I look up.
To you.
(ii) Athena’s Lover at Midlife
I’m older now, a craftsman.
More cunning, arguably. I drink a lot
of whiskey. I read poetry under olive trees.
Before the trucks roll I crack my back.
I will even show a tender heart —
I’m reluctant to keep battling.
I’ve slung a lot of arrows, Athena, dodged a few.
A glimpse from behind displays my wounds.
My list of mentors is new —
it still includes you,
but not only you.
I’ll drink to that and
this ploughed up field with
vultures circling.
David Laverty (b. 1975) is a poet from Ontario, Canada. He has worked as an urban firefighter for over 20 years and has been writing poetry for 6 years. Other work can be found in Dumbo Feather and The Cortland Review.