It was easier for Lida

To claim a swan had ravaged her

Than a reckless god drunk on power

Had torn away her dignity

All for the whim of curiosity

And thoughts of:

“What’s this one like”

This personification of manhood

Taking whatever fancied his Olympian eye

Until bored and sated he’d head back

Up the mountain for an afternoon sleep

Leaving the woman to clean up

From the disaster of the irrefutable.

At least swans are beautiful.