To be a queen was glory. Drank it all
sweet wine and rich, then bitter, then its lees
and dregs. Her husband Priam on his knees,
white hair turned red with blood. She saw Troy fall.
She saw her children die or raped or slaves.
She saw too much and then went barking mad
and cursed the Greeks. There’s sorrow beyond sad
and howls beyond lament, madness that raves
beyond unreason. Did not change her skin
to dog as some men said but leashed so tight
her grieving thoughts that snarling through the night
they hunted all of those who slew her kin.
Few Greek kings lived long. Fewer kings died well.
Their Trojan victims mocked their fates from hell.