Father wasn’t known for his dabbling
unlike Zeus he’d long known
how to avoid planting his seed in fertile fields
his conquests were purposeful excursions
his targets
only the worthy specimen
a warrior woman with fire in her blood and
a keen desire to grab life with both hands
he found my mother at a shooting range
her hair clipped back with militant precision
as she hit her mark
again and
again
it was lust at first sight
they shared a tumble in a tent somewhere
searing a brand of life into her unsuspecting womb
a handful of photos nine months later
were proof enough
he called it mission accomplished
he left his modern day Amazon to handle
the raising of his new little warrior
willing or not
she’d carry on his legacy
of the heated thrill of a good fight and
the desire to win it
Ares on a mission [poem]
