Scherzo
Music fills the party tent.
Jokes are cracked and drinks are poured:
a swanky but relaxed event.
I vibrate on the fingerboard
and slide the bow seductively
across my silver strings. You’re bored.
You came to this soirée with me
to hear me play with my quartet,
I thought. Wine and charcuterie,
the Brandenburg Concerto set,
tiny cups of chocolate mousse—
the night is warm; the grass is wet
and clinging to my slingback shoes.
How much better can it get?
You stand there and refuse to schmooze
through Boccherini’s Minuet,
you old curmudgeon, you. At least
cut loose and have a cigarette
while you endure a suite by Liszt.
Just make a little cocktail chat;
in one short hour you’ll be released
back to your normal habitat,
far from the strings of party lights,
the shaky wine-glass ziggurat,
the slightly tipsy socialites.
I’ll take a bow, loosen my bow,
and pack my case. On future nights
you stay at home and skip the show:
I’ll join you for an afterglow.
Carpsi Diem
Leuconoe’s reply to Horace
I got the message, buddy, loud and clear:
bring in the harvest while the grapes are ripe;
don’t wait for some far-off imagined year;
don’t listen to the manufactured hype
about some better future. Your advice
was just the thing I needed most to hear.
So I moved in with Marcus! Like crazed mice
we’re always at it. You made things so clear,
I’ll be forever grateful. Hey, what’s wrong?
You look like you just swallowed something sharp.
Don’t tell me there’s some hot babe you’re too shy
to make a move on? Listen, you and I
are buddies, so it’s my turn now to harp
on this: just go for it! Don’t wait too long.