I've let this go for a week or so

CATULLUS 92

Lesbia can't shut up. I am so vile,

she says. I guess that means she loves me still.

And so I go on living. All this while

I love her and aloud I wish her ill.

That's how it works, will work until our death.

We love, but curse each other with each breath.

Oh, and one for election week

CATULLUS 93

You're no one up to whom I care to suck.

Caesar – good man or bad? Don't give a fuck.

On a roll with these

CATULLUS 94

Big Dick fucks. Fucks a lot. It's not a shock.

His name has made him into one vast cock.

Each spice you cook gives flavour to your wok.

Is this Cinna the poet that gets killed in Shakespeare?

CATULLUS 95

Nine years, dear Cinna, and it's worth the wait.

Your tenants brought rich harvests in nine times.

Nine winters froze. Yet 'Smyrna' isn't late...

Hortensius wrote fifty thousand rhymes

in those nine years. In far off years and climes

they'll read you. While his work will dissipate

forgotten; all those pages used to wrap

cat litter, fish and chips. It's all such crap.