Greased Lightning

by Richard Epstein

It’s carelessness, at worst. Zeus has his days
Where thunderbolts feel greasy, lightning slips
On unsuspecting atolls, innocent
Of all but routine carnage — this eats that.
He can’t say Oops!, the Father of Gods; he can
Shrug majestically, turn to lunch, or sample
Today’s nymph special. On the drought-parched plain
The farmers save their pennies for the fare.

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