A new Odysseus poem

Differences between Achilles and myself

1

I watch him sharpen his spear

as its blade rests across his right, muscled thigh,

the wooden shaft moving across his lap

and beyond his side — as we sit we laugh, we soldiers,

about our wooden tails that poke out behind —

his spittle falls on the blade to ease away the friction

and allow the stone’s difference to have influence.

The stone slides back and forth, back and forth

until the metal or the stone  — for who can say —

gives up a sigh…and I know

he sharpens in preparation for the blood he will spill;

seeks it still despite the many —

ah poor Hector who should have been the last,

you, who were first among many for so many of us —

who have already succumbed to his thrust

whereas I sit beside him

and sharpen my blade in the hope

it may prevent the spillage of my own blood.

I do not seek

unless it can be said seeking

is an act to forestall whereas he seeks not to forestall

but hunts death —

his or others I think he cares not which —

with the ferocity of the lion

as it prepares to bring down the lamb.