For the rape of Chryssipus, King Laius suffered.
The gods saw what he took -- a young boy's chance

to play in the Nemean Games, to make his offerings
to Zeus, to win his wreath of wild celery leaves, advance

the Greek way: piety, honor, and strength. He raided
their vast heaven, not just a small boy's frame. Their justice

was what Laius came to dread: a son that would take
his mother to bed, a champion of the gods, an Oedipus.

We called on the same gods on your behalf, asked
for their twisted best: disease like a Chimera to eat

your Laius piece by piece; a Harpie who might wrap
her tongue around his neck and play his game of breathing

and not-breathing that he made you play; Medusa's curse in stone;
and a Golden Ram to put you back together bone by bone.