by Brett Rutherford
adapted from Meleager,
The Greek Anthology V, 184
unfaithful girl! I am a poet, after all,
and gods bring me little messages.
That you are lying is self-evident.
Call not on your gods to defend
falsehoods as black as night. Say
not that you slept alone, alone
in this bed you swore I was the only
guest to sweat its sheets with love,
alone you say, when I know otherwise.
"Alone! Alone" you repeat like a parrot.
Was not Cleon here an hour before me?
His smell is all over you: garlic
and axle-grease, a whiff of manure.
Gods gave me this nose for a reason!
"Oh no, not him!" you swear, profane
a divinity again with your oath:
watch lest your tongue fall out,
and half your teeth as well, liar!
I think I'll just leave. This mattress stinks
of the evil you have done in it.
Or shall I stay and read some Homer?
That should take some hours, I think.
Yes, I'll do that, and watch you fret
and steal quick glances at the door.
He's coming back again, I venture
to guess. With wine and a friend or two.
Well, let them come. I'll just read on.
Invoke your gods: you are no Helen.
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