Having just read a poem by William Butler Yeats
I decided to write about the gods and myths
of my ancient people and I would join poetic greats
of meter and rhyme and it would be poetic bliss.
So, I brushed up on Odin, the lovely Freyja and Thor
to name just three of the Scandinavian panoply
and as I was about to read much, much more
I found myself reading an interview of other poetry.
The poet said, “I thought I had to prove how brilliant
I was by mentioning…gods and mythology,
so I imitated…British…poets…and deeds done valiantly.”
Then, feeling guilty, I turned to free verse
and tossed the Vikings’ mythology
to that place where it belonged —
Valhalla,
which is a little, unincorporated
village
between Custer and Branch
on Rt. 10, which cuts
east and west in Michigan.
There are maybe a few
old, cantankerous Swedes
still living there
who would make Thor and
Odin shake their heads. And I
really doubt there is
any female even remotely
resembling fabulous Freyja.
The thing really Scandinavian
is that they are almost,
always depressed (even in
Scandinavian
heaven?)
unless they have
a good day
fishing on the Pere
Marquette River which
parallels 10
and runs to Ludington, where
there are several more
Scandinavians, finally emptying
into Lake Michigan and is
probably why the Swedes
landed there in the first place,
although now, they probably don’t
have many good days on
the Pere, because the
fishing just isn’t what
it used to be, but
it was either there or
Minocqua, Wisconsin
or someplace north of
Minneapolis, Minnesota.