THE MUSE COMPLAINS
God, did I even ask to be your muse?
Poetic stalkers, persecuting the innocent –
Sodding Petrarch, bloody Dante, do you think
Laura and Beatrice really wanted the hassle?
What did they get out of it?
-- a quick moment’s fame, and their husbands
Complaining: “Who’s this prat Dante? Petrarch?
What’s going on then?” But,
“Look, dearest” (they weep)
“I never even spoke to him.
Is it my fault if he saw me in church?”
(The husband glowers, the muse smiles
Quietly within herself.)
Pains, penalties, and satisfactions –
Apples and oranges.
Add them up and ask:
Who smiles most at the end?
ROBIN HAMILTON
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