No More Heroes

Hero

The chicken Hero died on Sunday
called so from Hero and Leander of
course (it's a girl's name but you
knew that), and it was not really
a good hero's death: a wound
unnoticed, infiltrated by maggots
e'en before the grave, and in fact
as it was a hot day I said burn her;
don't bring her back so fallen;
but importantly, remember (note
to self) this is not Anglo-Saxon poetry
not the Dream of the Rood, and her
demise was not a prefiguration nor
was meant to be.
I will kill my squirming
maggots and I will live.
Heroes can resist the
stench of the grave and
the false allure of heaven
if they believe.