by John Grey
By the way. Eurydice called. She didn’t leave a number.
She merely said, “I’ve been bitten by a snake,
died, am somewhere in the Underworld... .bummer...
and will try again later.” Big mistake.
Because what do you do, ridiculous man,
but leap down the fiery rabbit hole after her.
As if a golden lyre wasn’t enough, you can
rejoice, the way clear now to not only be enchanter
of beast and tree and rocks, smooth and tough,
but every lovely not named Eurydice.
And Hades was bewitched by you, enough.
Three notes, I’m convinced, veni vidi, vici.
You can have her back, bloody snake-bite and all.
But Hell has a rider in its contract, you can ill afford
To look back one last time, your call,
which is as good as saying to you, don’t play a G chord
on that stringed instrument of yours, sublime.
You looked back. And your wife is dead as a sausage.
Blame your twitchy neck muscles this time.
By the way. Eurydice called. She didn’t leave a message.
“Vortex 1” by Lindsey Terrell