To Venus, Re: You
OK--
Look, Love. You can’t just send me back to fight
In wars that now are through.
I’m retired, don’t you know that?
And just plain tired, too.
I lost all that strength that I once had
When I was young, and you were new.
Just stop--
Don’t be a bitch. My skin’s too thick
For the same old arrows your son once threw.
Here’s an idea: go fuck yourself
Or at least go where people want you:
Where pretty young men beg and burn
And lust, as pretty young men do.
In fact--
I know just the guy. You’ll have more luck
With Paulus Maximus than I. Here’s why:
He’s well-bred, rich, and cute as hell
With other virtues in supply.
Smooth-talker, street-walker
With talents many, aspirations high.
I bet--
He’d champion your cause. And in the end
He’d laugh to pass all rivals by.
He’d set your image in a victory shrine
Where in honor you would always lie.
With music sweet and incense sweeter
Forever lifting towards the sky.
And then--
Twice daily will green virgin boys
Sing hymns of Love just so profound
And dance in circle hand in hand
And stomp their feet upon the ground
And all the other shit like that to which
Adherents of your faith are bound.
But I?--
Green virgin boys can’t tempt me now.
In fact, they never come around.
I shun the parties where they drink
And drink until their fears are drowned.
Nor do I look for gifts of flowers
Or hymns of Love - I hate the sound!
SO WHY--
Ligurinus? Tell me! Why?
Why these tears come unbidden to my cheek?
Why my tongue goes numb when I try to speak?
Why each night I chase you in my dreams
Through stony fields, over rivers and streams?
I am old, and you are not--
You laugh and run, and are never caught.
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