SIR

Catullus (translated by John Cotter)

Catullus VIII

Bitter Jack! Let the top shelf bottles
take the night off.
Keep your phone in your pocket.
What you loved is gone.

From the purple light of her Watertown shades,
you woke to fall on the floor of clubs
or cabs. You blew on the light in her eyes
until you felt heat come.

You’ve tossed in damp sheets
and your heart’s not even hard.
Throw it all. You’re a name on her wall
and it’s illegible. Say:

I will smile when I see you, I will shake his hand,
and your phone will be quiet and still in your pocket.

Your face is art and odd but life
catches up: I learned to ignore the lines
each day, but they’ll deep. Fewer and fewer
will think you beautiful. I’d guess your loves
but I won’t guess long. Who will kiss your old face?
Who belong to you? Whose lip will you bite?

Love is beyond you, Jack. It’s biting quartz
you told yourself to take too soft.

Be cold.