Visit to Delphi

[Heracles] still suffered from evil dreams, and went to ask the Delphic Oracle how he might be rid of them. The Pythoness Xenoclea refused to answer this question. "You murdered your guest,' she said. "I have no oracles for such as you!' "Then I shall be obliged to institute an oracle of my own!' cried Heracles. With that, he plundered the shrine of its votive offerings and even pulled away the tripod on which Xenoclea sat … Up rose the indignant Apollo, and fought Heracles until Zeus parted the combatants with a thunderbolt, making them clasp hands in friendship.
— Robert Graves
Propped on phallic club,
clad in lion pelt,
he poses like a god
in the doorway of her cell.
(She's heard about him.
He's trouble.)
He murdered a guest,
is held captive by dreams
he wants to be rid of — now!
Flash of a moneyed palm —
payment on delivery.
(Pathetic!)
He starts to recite
nightmares in a dead voice.
She wishes herself off
in a trance, far away from
this long boring muscle.
She prevaricates: her one
pleasure to make him wait.
They are opposites in
a tiny space — explosive!
Next thing, he has seized
the tripod, thinking it holds
the power.
(It's simply a piece of furniture—
the fool doesn't get it.)
Then Apollo appears,
there's a fight till Zeus
intervenes—lightning,
obscene language, and so forth.
They all settle their nerves.
The place is an utter mess …
But he gets away with it.
(You know how it is —
everyone loves a big baby.)
She chews a laurel leaf,
walks out to breathe the fading light,
watch swallows trace
the arcs and orbits of their need.