The Love-Lorn

 by Brett Rutherford

     after Callimachus, Epigram 32 

Poor lad, have you eaten?
Good Heavens! You!
Wasted away to nothing,
made hollow-cheeked by lack
to skin and bone, I knew
you not, poor boy,
Cleonicus of Thessaly!
I swear by the burning sun
I mistook you for another
who idles here sometimes
in need of a meal or more.

 Come, have a drink. Ah,
we have a common woe.
The doom that once withered me
was wizened you — the gods
have played cruel tricks on us,
the same humiliating jest
on thee and me. Drink up!

 How did I guess? If walls
have ears, and windows eyes,
nothing in Alexandria
escapes the gossips. I need
but whisper the cursèd name
Euxitheus. He played you too?
You’ll need a month of dinners
to vanquish your despair. You too,
like me, looked in those eyes
and fell into the same abyss.

Come, Cleonicus! With wine
and open heart, be free!
Now, over there, look at that one!