Catullus
has returned to Rome from delivering the eulogy at his brother’s funeral.
He
is sitting at a bar, about to be cut off. His friend is trying to get him to
leave.
You think I’m a pathetic little turd?
Pfft! I’m not.
I’m something much stranger
much sadder
than that.
A Hack.
Yes, a hack.
Paid by the verse
by the line
by the word.
Joy to the newly wedded virgins – ha!
Sadness to the mourning widows – ha!
Enlightenment to the beardless youth – ha!
Success to those who pursue – ha!
Redemption to those who repent – ha!
Please don’t insult my intelligence
by believing in
my output.
Why do you think there are cliché
phrases?
Formulaic thinking?
Repetitive images?
You think I’m not better than that?
Excuse me while I sip my wine.
You’re such a kidder.
Except for …
the words I write for me
and the words I write for her
but I won’t discuss those.
Barkeep! More wine.
Shoo. Leave me in peace.
Ave
atque vale, frater, ave atque vale.
Shoo.
