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"Looking Back"

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         I steal a glance past my shoulder,
     expecting nothing,
but this time I see a man
with golden sandals that wrap his legs,
     almost to his knees.
 
     Tiny wings jut from his ankles.
 
Two additional wings
     threaten to pull
         the rounded bronze helm from his head.
 
The man's arms pump lazily at his sides.
     as he runs,
         bare-chested,
     with a cape that snaps in the wind.
 
The man's confident smile and ruddy skin
     look human enough,
but I am not fooled.
 
I've seen that unbearded face
 
     before . . .
 
         . . . many times . . .
 
             . . . carved into boundary markers . . .
 
         . . . and on crossroad stones that bear his name
     in the hope that he will guide lost travelers.
 
My clay jar shatters
     against the hard-packed earth.
Winged sandals
     fly over the broken shards.

BE A DEMIGOD!

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