Portrait of My Father as the Trojan Horse

Tory Adkisson | Poetry

Say father, father & listen for war. Stay
quiet and listen for a drum

beat, the same as the heart of war.
The breath of men is a reckless sound

that splinters in the throat. Dad drinks
a little then a little more, and I wait and I wait.

When the Greeks leave they leave their shadows
burned into the walls, their ships

hurtling away from the coast
like a wake of vultures toward another

carcass that must be pillaged.
All it took to sack the city of Troy

was letting the wrong horse into its stables.
And me? I was the poor fool who listened

against the slats of his wooden
flank for a sound like love

and always let him in.