“Don’t try and pretend,” Lamos of the Laistrygones sneered.
“Your eyes are open and you see them.”
Odysseus forced himself to meet the Giant’s withering gaze,
and somehow kept his nerves in check and his gore from rising.
The creature’s hair clung in knotty ropes down his bladesharp shoulders,
his teeth were jagged and cracked and their discolor
stood out against his fishbelly pale flesh.
His gut was distended, his knees wobbly and bent in
and a great big thing like a snake swung between his legs.
He wore not a stitch of clothing, and towered over
the piteous father of Telemachos.
He waved a meaty thighbone in his boulderlike fist
and littered about him were haunches of meat
and bones and scattered viscera
that moments before had been Odysseus’ dear shipmate.
“If you didn’t amuse me so, Athene’s champion,
you would share his fate. Instead I think I shall take you
to see the rocky stronghold of Telepylos,
city of the Elder Race. But first I must finish eating.”
Lamos tore loose a chunk of his bosom companion Polites
then gnawed it soft with those terrible teeth of his,
giggling as Odysseus watched on.
