The south breeze cooled the sanded corpses—
too late to refresh the living files
who sweated toward Minos assailing Megara
and taught oysters to ooze purple.
Down to the ships! their dead captain shouted,
but the arrow hit him behind his earlobe.
The rostrum almost rutted the beach
and the bloated king’s blood-orange crest
arced in his eyes while he ogled the walls.
His peons staggered piles of Megarans
and set up tents and siege engines
ready to topple the resonant gates.
They’d never succeed if Nisos could keep
his purple dreadlock on its pearl dungeon.