Notes by Menelaus on Helen’s Abduction
I was in Sainsbury’s,
the one opposite Brent Cross,
a cherished food hall for my Greek neighbours,
between aisles seven and eight -
Chilled Foods and Newspapers and Magazines -
stocking up on feta and tiramisu
for the speed dating party
when you called - “number unknown”
flashed up on my phone – saying you wanted
to hear my voice, was missing me,
though you’d only been gone a week,
but I could hear him behind you,
his hands travelling the slopes
so familiar to mine.
I do not care which god has his back;
does he think he can steal you away,
this bastard birth who should have died,
but now struts a purpled Trojan prince
at the wheel of a pimped BMW?
Pass my words onto him;
I swear I will fuck him up,
him and his in distant Hisarlik,
their bones left bleaching on the beach
for the white crows to divine the paths
the gods have scripted us into already.
Tell him he will not know love for long.