An empty Greek restaurant. People
go by, Germans, Swabians and others,
music doesn't play here.
The name of the restaurant is MYTHOS.

A Greek man brings food. The pieces of meat
have been carved into thin slices, crisp pork,
salad and red rice. I look out the window,
eat, glance at my plate and

then I see: Greek characters.
Gyros. Poleites. Mesogaios. Helos.
Every piece of meat has a name on it.
These are, of course, Odysseus's men,

turned into swine by Circe. Now
their flesh has finally reached mine, too.
The Greek man comes, smiles, waters
the orchids from a watering can, PHALAENOPSIS. MYTHOS.

Translated from Estonian by Brandon Lussier