Samantha Jory-Smart, Mind Odyssey, 2017
Odysseus slouches in my mind, slumped in the classical
cluttered corner. He sulkily searches for old acquaintances,
but Polyphemus left yesterday.
At length he brandishes Homer’s works with a sigh.
He should have heartily laughed at his adventures
but now he is as jaded as he was during his time with Calypso.
Restless, he shuffles along to the mind-corner
with walls bedecked in cascading gods, grabs an old
horseshoe, thwacks it weakly at the wall.
Once, Zeus speared the Earth with rippling energy
called glory. It was a lightning bolt taster
for heroes sprawled across time; their minds flooded
with the desire to defy death and achieve immortal prestige.
But immortality made everything boring.
The gods were wrong in Odysseus’ droopy eyes,
deathly sirens, leaving him plastered on the rocky coast of time.
Odysseus says he was foolish,
now left to perpetually wander between brains.
There is no Ithaca to travel to,
not one conquerable monster, except his own humanity
elongated beyond its years.
He is left to shake his fist at immortal gods scattered
in mortal brains, and hope to bump into them forcefully, violently,
and regain his honour long buried in the past.