Juno's Juno

I walked out on Capitol Hill,
my pant suit cut like pastrami
on rye: thin slices to make a wad,
the meat piled and cradled in the bread.
 
I spoke for all the dead
women to that male assembly,
Minerva by my side and even Jupiter
respectful of our turn to speak.
I didn't know he'd raped again.
 
The chairman Zeus laughed at us when
we said that each woman,
just as a man is blessed with genius,
is gifted with juno.
'She thinks herself a gift!' he roared.
 
'Does Io think herself adored
now that she languishes in fields,
reduced to sharing cud
with all the other cows?'
I looked at Jupiter, confused.
 
'You didn't know that Io was abused
by your unsatisfied husband?'
Now Zeus was trembling with mirth.
My husband blushed as red
as evening in Hades. He looked away.
 
Olympia was rolling, gay;
our chairman shot a thunderbolt
directed at Minerva's heart
and mine. 'I've seen that cow!'
Poseidon laughed. 'A pretty heifer, too!'
 
Minerva stared at me. 'You knew?'
'I don't know what they mean!' I said,
but suddenly I did. The heifer in  
the field outside had looked at me  
with glum, black eyes.
 
The cruel disguise
was forced on her by Jupiter,
the metamorphosis designed
to keep his rape of her hidden.
To take away her voice.
 
We left the podium. No choice
allotted us would save our dignity
by then. The poets called me jealous, mad,
a wife of incomparable hauteur.  
We learn our place, we fat harpies:
 
to be pleasing, like silent peonies.