Atalanta is tired:
of fending off creatures who would have their way
of having to outrun every man.
Her quads are sore and Achilles inflamed from overtraining
and she could do without comments
from women who disapprove of her warrior lifestyle.
She's still bitter about being left behind
but is managing.
And she really hates those damn apples
getting thrown in her way. Questioning
what deliciousness is and wondering
if she hasn't already tasted it.
How tempting they are: pick them up
and put an end
to all this hunting and running and fighting.