by Brett Rutherford
adapted from Meleager, The Greek Anthology
v., 175
“Never come unannounced to a lady’s door!”
Woman, I am no longer deceived!
That you were never true to me, that
your every vow and promise was false,
is so apparent in the light of noon.
Just look at you! Your unwashed locks
are pasted down with last night’s sweat.
Have you no mirror? Those eyes,
so heavy-lidded for lack of sleep
are a confession all their own. The marks
of the garland you wore all night
still press your greasy brow. Your hair
just now so freely tossed to seem casual,
bears all the signs of manhandling.
In just those few steps you took
from door to table, you tottered.
Parties, if not orgies,
there must have been:
the empty amphorae outside
did not escape me, nor the heap
of shells and chicken bones,
betraying how many visitors enjoyed
more than an afternoon call.
I am done with you, public woman.
I’d rather sleep
with Priapus’s grandmother.
Dancing shoes have you?
Go spin about, and tilt, and show
your cleavage to any lout
who has a lyre
and a paved floor above
a well-stocked wine-bin.
No doubt you own castanets, too,
and a wanton’s change-purse,
for the kind of thing you do, is done
in an alley for half a copper.
