My Weariness of Epic Proportions

I like it when
Achilles
Gets killed
And even his buddy Patroclus -
And that hothead Hector -
And the whole Greek and Trojan
Jeunesse dorée
Are more or less
Expertly slaughtered
So there's finally
Peace and quiet
(The gods having momentarily
Shut up)
One can hear
A bird sing
And a daughter ask her mother
Whether she can go to the well
And of course she can
By that lovely little path
That winds through
The olive orchard.

Simic, Charles. New and Selected Poems, 1962-2012. United States, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2013.

Why I chose this poem

This poem feels edgier to me that I think it needs to. It certainly echos my feelings about these stories of slaughter we tell, over and over. I apprecieate the way that the anonymous women, roles without names, are for a moment safe.