How, like a...God
he comes

taking the shape
& the form of a

swan

who having had
his wicked way

longs
to be

on his
merry way.

But, wait
...what’s this

he can’t....shake
...his fine...feathers...off

feather upon
downy feather

locks him
into the costume

he had put on
& now...can’t be put off.

What magic
can this human woman

weave

& now
having been taken

takes great pleasure
in having her servant

a giant of a man
among men

****** the swan
& be gone.

And once
the God

is well & truly
f*

he’s plucked
of all

the finery
of his feathers.

Behold, the God
standing in the ****

shivering & ready
for the ***

the final twist
of this fatalistic plot

...his beautiful
neck.

That night
she dines upon

the subtle delicate
breast of swan

served in a creamy
pepper & garlic sauce.

She even has
an extra helping

thinking she can
always exercise it off.

Alas, poor Zeus
wishing he had chosen

to pose
in his usual tour-de-force

a shower
of gold

but thinks too late
(thinking even as he is eaten) .

And now, she burps
(“Oh, pardon..! ”)

sleeps
& dreams

of a God
fit for a dish