Known for her strength,
Athena can throw
a spear like a dart,

and on the day
of the contest for Athens
it’s a bull’s eye –

not just Attica’s
but the world’s first olive tree
springs where her spear falls.

Athena is surprised
how at ease the tree is,
the Saronic Gulf

merely its backyard, the slopes
of the Akropolis simply a source
of afternoon shade.

Athena’s competitor packs his bag,
the fruit of the new tree
glossy as his lost dream.

On Philopappos hill – lizards
seeing blindly into the distance,
empty olive oil cans

already being planted
with geraniums in the city below –
Athena throws her spear again

through air she may as well begin polluting.
A chair appears, a table,
a bowl of olives, an ashtray.

She reaches into the back pocket
of her jeans, sits down,
lights up.