again this night endures
the usual drill: lying
forsaken in the royal bed
of His Majesty, Midas,
King of the Phrygians.
“Besotted oaf, loveless boor,
he’ll lurch home at dawn,
teeth and tongue black
with wine like the first
sign of plague, reeking
like a barnyard from a whole
night of sport with Bacchus,
that drunken pig, crusted
with vomit, and his randy
pack of centaurs.
This night’s revels should sink
to the nadir. For his slavish devotion
and protection of Silenius, the most
debauched of Bacchus’s horde, Midas
will receive a special reward.”
Blind with drink in the hazy dawn,
Midas heads home only vaguely aware
of the full extent of the gift he’s been given.
Belching wine he flicks at a dragonfly
which falls like a stone with filigreed wings.
Midas enters the royal chamber
where Mrs. Midas lies fast asleep.
He mounts the bed and reaches for her—
in a flash the bedding turns to gold.
“What’s this, what’s happening?” cries Mrs. Midas.
He staggers to the window to get fresh air, and
the fine gauze curtains become a veil of gold,
a sieve the morning light breaks through.
“Oh, what has happened to me, my pet?"
"Get out of this room! Never touch me again.”
At noon she finds him struggling for breath
under the weight of a golden blanket and
calls the servants to lift it off. From the
kitchen she brings him water and fruit,
watches him heft the food to his mouth
and set it down in growing despair.
She brings milk, bread, honey, cake;
panic consumes him & he runs through
the house, touching everything in sight
looking for some object that won’t turn gold,
like a bee zooming from flower to
flower with no pollen left to take.
Midas knows his loss and weeps. "Without
water I’ll shrivel like a purple plum &
I’ll starve without the help of Bacchus."
"Then, Midas, you must return to the revels,
and prevail on your friend to remove the charm."
He no longer wishes to join the debauchery,
but from a safe distance he cries to Bacchus,
"Save my life! Take back your gift!"
Mrs. Midas swiftly hires the slaves
to carry the gold to a safe place.
"Transport my precious gold to me.
You must sail it in small cargo dinghies
down the golden river to my place of birth."
From her own vessel she hears the reeds:
"Apollo gave Midas the ears of an ass,
in punishment for his lack of judgment.
Midas is an ass…." "Too true," says Mrs. Midas,
“And his dreadful rewards bring sweet ones to me.”