Metamorphoses

Yesterday
Achelous and Hercules
got into it
on the articulated section bench
of the East Greenlake Express.
Achelous squeezed next to Hercules
and hissed at him to move over
'your stinking ass is touching mine
you fat piece of shit.'
Hercules was drunk.
He smelled like stale tobacco and urine.
'I can't move over any further, dyke bitch.'
Achelous struck first,
jamming her transistor radio
into Hercules' side.
But Hercules' frame was built to withstand.
Withstand like he faced Lerna's Hydra
on his first tour of 'Nam.
'Help! Bus Driver! I'm being assaulted!'
Achelous bellowed as her fist broke off
against his oil stained fatigue jacket.
The Nyaids filled her hollow wrist
with fragrant cherry blossoms
and fresh Yakima apples.
'She doesn't like men,'
Hercules slurred as a mortal supplicated his seat
to the steaming Achelous.
Later that evening,
the Minotaur knocked at the door.
'Ahhhhh, the lady of the house,
may I come in?'
The Minotaur said he was going door to door
asking for tribute for inner city kids.
The words flowed like a river of boxcars
klung klunging over spiked railroad ties.
He put his foot over the threshold
and I rose to meet him.
'We don't let unannounced callers
into our foyer,' I said.
The Minotaur waved his dog-eared script
at me and leveled his eyes on the mark,
'I want to talk to Ms. Dana' he growled.
With that I put my hand on his muscled shoulder
and pushed firmly.
'Fuck it pal, I've had enough,
shake them down next door.'
The Minotaur raged and called out in anger,
'I have leukemia, I have full blown AIDS,
and a white motherfucker don't give a shit
about the black man.'
The embers of battle cooling in the freezing rain,
I called after him,
'I don't give a shit about The Gods either.'