two poems by Sherod Santos

[novapsyche]

Both of these were published in this month's Poetry.

The Supplication


When I finally found her alone in her room,
I got down on all fours and begged for it,
Took her scented knees in my hands and from
Some aching place in me I raised the goblet
Of my supplication: "Won't you save the life
Of an old man who, for all intents and purposes,
Is almost dead? Whose numbered breaths now chafe
His lungs? An old man who, nonetheless,
Is saddled with the cravings of a teenage boy?"
I think it really got to her. A hot tear
Tracked her cheek, but as I pressed my plea
The tear dried up, and with what I feared
A gesture of revulsion, she raised her hand
To consign my wish to a never-never land.

--Rufinus, circa second to fifth century A.D.

Rumor


It's been said I no longer chase young boys,
That, having traded my discus for a toy doll,
My cravings have turned to girls. It's said as well
That instead of a sweet Arab's unscrubbed face,

His close-cropped, licey, sweat-black hair,
I choose face powders, lipsticks, rouge. Oh yes,
And dolphin feed in the woods of Erymanthus,
And a herd of green deer in the plashy air.

--Rufinus, circa second to fifth century A.D.