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4:37 p.m. - July 17, 2004
Poem: You
Next time you beckon and show me the prize breathing fire and arching its leathery wings, you can forget about being King Arthur to my Guinivere, you loud-mouthed, lusty-eyed Centurion with your sculpted chest and unworked brain, next time you slide past the lettuce and cucumbers and eye the broccoli and the boys, don't expect me to offer you a seat, you smug, self-proclaimed Hero, not if you're wearing your Bulls cap, your 24-Hour Fitness t-shirt or your self-satisfied smirk. Next time you barge into me like Sisera barged into that tent, sweaty and demanding, and ask for a glass of water, I'll give you milk but that won't be all you'll get. You, you hypocritical swaggering Odysseus, are looking for a Penelope who'll wait and weave and praise the gods when you show up on the doorstep, but you should know by now, you so-called keeper, it should have penetrated your thick skull by now that I am like Athena, I am Morgan le Fay, I am wise and powerful and cunning and, like Jael, I have a tent peg and a hammer and you can't stay awake forever. �JEZ, 2003
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