Finding
Orion
He
waits now for boots to be invented,
his
solid brass club a paperweight in the book of night.
Barefoot
but for a hero’s sandals, Mother Earth,
tired
of his roughshod swagger, sent the only creature
to
him that he’d never considered a challenge.
“I
can kill any beast on earth,” he bragged to Artemis,
who
often joined him in the hunt, prowling the
woods
together by moonlight and torches,
looking
for game, playing by his rules, so simple.
The
scorpion’s fine formula burst quickly through his veins,
his
anxious heel swollen after just one strike.
Pissing
contest aside, his indiscriminate slaughter
of animals
and lovers had worn out his mortal welcome.
Commemorated
now in the Boulevard of Greek Dreams,
his
belt of three bright queens, strong sisters, points towards
dazzling
Sirius, radio dog star, unbreakable club at hand.
He
lords it over the other stars at midnight, mighty hunter
as
before, wherever you find him.
Train
your eyes southwest, or northwest if you’re south,
or
merely west if you’re at the Equator already, for he is a giant.
The
easiest way to find Orion is at dawn, or in the evening.
Like
all men, he is full of contradictions.
CAR 2/5/18
