April 26: Ulysses

 Today’s prompt

Born to be a wanderer

Fight confederates and Cyclops. Really the same thing as far as vision-

Worldview-

Is concerned.

A foe appears great

then displays obvious weakness.

…Like petals, drifting along the breeze. 

The gods are indifferent and my fist is clenching itself in the old rage again. 

Conquests and conflicts ruminate in my lower intestine. Felt in my spleen, felt in my bones, absorbed through the aged moisture hovering around my foot’s flight paths.

…tree limbs bend in the storm.

The siren song

of Old Granddad, 

The dull whir of the television

After another long day at the mattress factory.

Each day a 20 year exile.

…Haze of afternoon heat rising from pavement.

Claw back.

Rend mud with fingers.

Spit dirt and the detritus of the past

Out.

Breathe.

Welcome to life again, brother.

Welcome home.

…dead grass in the front yard.

Winds from the sea,

Lead me to the next bar stool

Guide my stumbled steps home.

Never let me out of your dull embrace.

This is all I have ever really wanted.

…wooden fence weathered by storms.

The end to the fight

A dull lit room. 

Hunched in the recliner.

Examination of the scars hidden under the uniform.

Under the skin.

Under the soul.

Take another slug right from the bottle.

…Thorn bush slice and pulls from below.

At the end,

There was supposed to be the grand resolution.

The spilling of suitors’ blood.

The casting out

The reclamation of what is rightfully mine.

Penelope.

…lost between the the boards.

Instead

I sit here,

Embracing the penultimate sip,

The last good one 

before

The only resolution

I’m entitled to:

One that is riddled by backwash

…And the taste of broken glass.