Here Lies Little Boat
Made of “mountain-grown timber” and so forth.
[Insert metaphor here, re: virgin planks
plunging into the bawdy sea.]
Taught me everything I know.
Fastest boat there ever was, everyone
says so. Pretty little thing, anyway.
Retired now. Changing times,
aging lines. Something of that sort.
[Nothing whatsoever to do
with recent purchase of Big Boat.]
Catullus 4
Guy Calls George and Travis In
Across Mongolia’s endless steppes you say you’ll go,
on ponies wet with sweat. And yet I know you’ve never ridden.
Sumo wrestling in Japan? You weigh 110—you’ll be smushed—
and still you’re keen to squint your eyes and slap your thighs
and step into the ring. Georgie lad, I’ve heard you say
you’d smoke some dope, ‘though you’re allergic to the smoke.
Travis boy, you’ve gone and said you’d shake hands
with that White House guy—even though his name alone
breaks you out in hives. Only yesterday you claimed I only had to ask
and you’d cross town, to Papa’s Pizza, and order their calzone—
even after Mrs. Weatherly nearly died from e-coli.
So, brave boys, I’m calling in your promises:
Here’s some flowers
tied with ribbon, pink as a virgin’s tush. And some chocolates
drizzled with confection something-mumbly-dee. They’ll impress,
that’s what the clerk told me. And a heart-shaped pillow, festooned
in dainty lace, just like my Aunt Joan’s sofa cushions. Ring Leslie’s bell,
toss all the booty in her arms so she can barely see, and then
tell her she won’t get any more from me. Tell her all that love we shared
is fucking over. Flower in a distant meadow, severed by a plow—
that sort of thing. Her fault—say that. Then? Run—before she gets her gun.
Catullus 11
Lament for the Untimely Death of Leslie’s Rooster
Oh Gods, Oh Benevolent Spirits, Oh Guard Dogs,
all Fairies in the Gardens! Witness this, Ancestral
Ghosts and every Boy Scout who ever helped
Granny cross the street! I call on you, Bartenders:
I grieve! My lady’s rooster, my lady’s rutting,
ruddy cock, has croaked! Believe me, Spirits
of the Deep, you Foul and Choking Blots
of Lawyer Spawn and Zoning Committees
and Departments for the Regulation
of Agricultural Dross: you will pay
for what you’ve done. My lady’s eyes are red
with weeping from the chemicals you’ve sprayed
across her lawn and in the house. The rooster
was a bastard—you think I liked to watch
my lady preen his feathers while I sat by,
unmolested? But now my lady wheezes
uncontrollably—allergic to the compounds
you say will save her life. Bird flu? You fools—
I was the only one the rooster threatened, but now
you’ve killed both bird and my lady’s libido.
Catullus 3
Look at Leslie’s Ruddy Rooster
Look at Leslie’s ruddy rooster,
snuggled smug a’ right up in her
lap. Watch her preen his feathers,
kiss his beak—that prodding pecker
that she teases with her fingers
before fluffing out his wings. Her
lips brush across his head—watch him
perk, the little prick. Sure, debauch
the bird, Leslie, but me? Just talk.
I’d grin too, if I were that cock.
Catullus 2
First Sight
A god, is he? That man standing there,
mapping the constellation of your breasts?
Does he say your gravity makes you
irresistible? Does he call you a sun
too bright to look upon? Listen—it’s true
your laughter sears, our skin peels
when you glance at us. Baby, I could say
infinite. I could say asteroids, collision,
shattering. I’ve charted that path, too.
Satellite skimming your horizon. Fuck him.
The stars will still be there tomorrow.
Tonight—I’ve got my bike. Let’s stake
the highway, claim Hatcher’s Pass,
pan for gold. We’ll build a fire by the river;
you can teach me what it is to burn.
Catullus 51