Circe Poem by Walter Wykes

your mansion rises
in the middle of a clearing
a dense wood, prowled by lions and wolves
the drugged and deadly victims of your magic

tales of your dark temper
are legendary

by magical arts
you reduce scorned suitors to cattle
or pigs
whichever suits your fancy

you leave them nothing
not even their manhood

still, I am drawn
like a wild beast
like all the others before me
to feast upon your witch's smile

red wine drips from your moist lips
splashes on a bare breast

like Odysseus
I suspect treachery from the outset
but I am only a man

even as I tear at your clothing
I keep one eye on the door
and a hand on my sword