Achilles

I saw Achilles in Lafayette Park.
His helmet, a soppy mess of smeared ink,
was catching the rain as he hid,
and sporting headlines of his own making.
He kept his heel in a brown paper bag,
kissing it often and feeling stronger for it.
Meanwhile,
the king pressed on.
Separated by yards,
but connected by history.

Author: Timothy Tarkelly

Timothy Tarkelly has an MA in Theatre (Drama Therapy) from Kansas State University. His poetry has been featured by Fourth & Sycamore, New Bourgeois, and Hollow Publishing.

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