Myth and Modern Man

I am showered in mythological heroes,
the earth mother archetype, dying
and reviving gods. But all I can think of
is Boris, waiting at my locker
when I leave. He takes me in his mother’s car
to McDonalds where we will share
twenty chicken mcnuggets with extra
sweet and sour sauce. Sex with him
is tangy like a grapefruit with sugar
you eat with a spoon that has spikes.
My English teacher makes us do
creative projects but I study on Sunday nights
in Boris’s bedroom, and learn only by accident
about the fall and the garden.

Boris and I are falling, falling
like the Wizard of Oz witch melts