Too Many Arrows

by Brett Rutherford

     after Meleager, Greek Anthology, V, 215

Love, listen to me.

If not to me, then heed

my interceding Muse.

Sleepless each night,

pining for Heliodora,

all I can do is let

the Muse direct

my weary stylus.

Why, sly godling,

does your little bow

send arrows only my way?

So many have pierced me,

all writ with the name

of one lady, over and over

inscribed "Heliodora,"

that I am more porcupine

than man. I bristle, I bleed

with all the fire-fletched

shafts. What can I do?

Do I have to insult you,

prompter of marriage,

and instigator of progeny,

the delight of maidens

and pining youths?

Must I write here:

See Meleager, poet,

murdered by Cupid.