Cronus: A Poem



It begins like this, with an ambush:

a sickle sliced through friendly flesh,

nerves and muscles, a tight knot;

the shock of something irreversible.


Your father’s cock,

as limp and halting as a comma,

now punctuates your own undoing,

leading your children on a path


worn smooth by hate, heavy with meaning.

So naturally you will eat them,

tearing their skin with yellowed teeth,

sucking the fat from nascent bones,


all to delay your own diminishing.

You confused me for a rock, your oldest son

spared only by your own negligence,

a hollow churning in your gut


was mistaken for the pangs of the inevitable.

But as your body now forgets itself,

mine remembers your betrayal:

aut neca aut necare.


It ends like this, with another ambush:

a mumbled apology, a sickle,

and in my heart: a shameful hate

as sharp as steel, as hard as rocks.


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