The Loser’s Excuse

An alternative account of the Odyssey

Why is he the one always in the right? Why must we be the scoundrels?
It was he who stole strapping lads from all over and set them to sail for twenty years
But who in the meantime brought peace and security to this land?
Isn’t it to our credit that we congregated in his manor and raised such a racket?
For over a decade no one occupied the throne, the surrounding countries attacked
The king’s father grew old, his son was useless, so our assault was just a matter of time
Who knew if our lord was dead or alive? Of course, we’d choose a new one in his place—
Shouldn’t he have safely escorted home all the young men he had taken away
Rather than censure us for squandering his fortune with food and drink?
For ten years, his clever wife deceived us, not until she finished weaving a burial shroud
For her father-in-law, she said, but what she wove during the day, she unraveled at night
Meaning that what she wove during those years was, in fact, our funeral shrouds
After twenty years, he returned disguised as a beggar, showed himself to son and servant
And as the archery contest ended, he tricked us, shot us all, slaying us to the last man
If justice exists, I pray your wife and the Lord of Hades will judge us fairly—
Mumbling these things to ourselves, our blood-soaked souls gather and shuffle
Downward into the fog spilling from the underworld’s open maw