Standing outside the lush, fragrant garden
grown from seed Adonis planted so long ago,
during his too brief stay with Persephone,
is a living statue of carved figwood,
a punishing man, bald,
with a sloping brow, bulging eyes
and flapping lips, a great fat belly
and a cock thicker than Herakles’ club,
and longer too.
Anyone who tries to sneak inside
and steal a look at what’s in the cedar chest
has him to answer to,
and Daidalos forgot the ears.
