The Anti-Cupid

He comes dragging his sack of troubles
No sweet arrows in his bag;
A kick to your rear or a whack with his cane –
If your heart’s been broken, let him redirect your pain!

The land he’s from is ablazing
With passionate waterfalls;
He ignores arabesques volcanoes
And prefers dark, dank, smelly halls.

At night when love stars are shining
And embraces are cheating sleep,
He shuffles alone from his crumbling abode
And recites to the empty plaza
A heartbreaking, angry ode:

“My dear one, my dear one –
I pulled off your wings! I stomped on your heart,
I stole back my ring . . .
My damned one, my sad one –
You should weep for me! I drowned my heart
Cause my tears made a sea!
And now all that’s left is an envy-green me.
The tattered old sack that I drag around
Is filled with the memories of the lost and the found,
Scraps of torn photos and lace valentines . . .
And my wrung-out old heart in a vinegar brine.”

Catie Faryl
February 2008