Prometheus is at home happily married.
The doctor is concerned about his liver
and his wife says he drinks too much.
Prometheus loves wine and his friend 
Dionysius. Fire and wine: two giant steps
for mankind, never mind the downside.
When these two friends sit and reminisce
they agree all good men are tricksters.
The children who used to play at his feet
look too grown-up now. They want to hear
the outrageous stories about his wild years.
How he stole fire and helped the mortals.
How his job chewed up his insides every day.
How all men were punished with Pandora, 
and how Pandora’s dowry contained
every fury known to man, titan, or god.
Love between Prometheus and Pandora
was intended to be another punishment.
How his liver and heart were reconstituted
every day still remains a mystery to him
but he knows that his strength made his pain
perpetual. His children don’t believe him.
After all, he’s only a myth to them and they, 
after all, are realists like their mother.
Their mother tells them about the ox
that died inside the house, the baby ox
that bellowed and suffered and spewed 
shit all over the kitchen floor and wall.
The children laugh at the part about the shit.
Of course Prometheus was away then, suffering
on his precious rock and ruining his liver.
His wife has no sympathy for that episode.
Poor Prometheus. Poor kitchen. Poor wife.
Poor ox. Prometheus strokes his graying beard
and tells the story once again: I had a friend,
I had a boss, I had a wife, I had children,
I had a job, and there was this eagle 
and there was this ox, and I was chained 
to this rock. It was a long time ago. 
Another glass, my friend? Come sit by the fire.