Apollo dangled prophecy before her.
He let it brush against her cheek,
her chin, dipped it to her breast
and winked. Breath ripe
with figs and grapes,
he blew it hot upon her face.
So, burdened with this gift,
she closed her eyes and wished for
river water,
yellow plums,
giggling girls
but saw instead a city fall,
felt it burn like the twist of his grip
on the skin of her wrist.
Helpless to hold her tongue,
she told the truth to him.
I will not lie with you.
Impudent oracle! he spat and spoilt
her gift. False prophet!
And then he laughed,
his laddish swagger coming back.
Now tell the truth bitch, he said.
and forced a kiss upon her lips.
Troy, she said.
He looked at her with narrowed eyes.
It will fall, she said.
And he applauded her for this.
A slow hand clap.
Shout it from the rooftops girl,
write it in blood.
Stand in the dock and swear,
hand on heart, hand on heaving heart
that Troy will fall.
Try it!
She shrunk to her knees.
His eyes gleamed.
He’d conquered after all.
