The Sleeper

 by Brett Rutherford

     after Callimachus, Epigram 64

Is your bed soft, Conopion?
Do you sleep well, and dreamless,
while I crouch chill in misery
on your cold porch? Not even
one thin blanket covers me.

Yes, I would keep you awake,
and not unpleasantly. Cruel one,
you feel not a jot of empathy,
as I shiver for your company.

A neighbor walks by and notices
my toss-and-turn on marble,
nothing but my own clothes
between me and bruising.

He shakes his head and mutters,
“Another fool! You waste your time
with this professional virgin!”
And then I think of your thin frame,
black hair that will soon enough
show veins of gray, and the day
when no one looks upon you twice.

Whose porch will you then sleep upon?