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I have nowhere to go, not my sister’s, And my arms are thin, look, so thin. Venus, is that you now, can we dare give up on you? When you totter by and your breathing’s bad, You think you won’t go in for coffee, And don’t know what you’d do without TV And wonder why girls now always show their chests, We must hang on and hang on To see one more day of us, One more increment to our lives If we can love each other. Apollo Now Apollo, we’ve not looked at you, Which of course we can’t and thus does your gaze Make light the perfect metaphor. Sunny Apollo, I don’t have your eye for stitching, style or shade. I rose once to wedding-gloves of yellow kid But I am no handsome l’homme aux gants. You however were only ever once discomfited, So the story goes, and by your prick of course, Before reason, and you’ve long been above all that. You have no dread of error, no more fear Of losing an argument than losing a girl. The white kine sponged down for you, Trusting heifers lowing upwards to your brow Are brought to their knees by the spreading springs Mystified, noses drizzling blood, the finest voices, Maidens, anointed worshippers. JEFFREY WAINWRIGHT | 82
page 83
Indifferent to gory plaudits, You might turn your head but don’t. Once you were thought time-expired When out of other blood came the word That divinity was not a lordling such as you But some man, skinny, a frowner, shadow-faced, Eyes black as flies wont to be stapled, pierced, Twisted by other men and not inscrutable But ignobly crying out. Yet as he stood up and stepped forth, you assumed him without a blink. His eyes became your eyes of flame, His wormy pedestal your flawless porphyry, And below who must be scourged is scourged. When Regulus, eyelids excised, is turned Towards you you will not avert your gaze. The serpent’s hymn of adoration says you see everything And deceive us all – in the sun dwells intellectual fire, What are its eyes? So are you the One? The one living and True God, Everlasting, without body, parts, or passions, Infinite power … wisdom … goodness … Maker … Preserver … super string …… theory of everything? But we have been learning, Apollo, We know you what you are. Because we could not bear the justice of your gaze; Because you would not blink for anyone; Because, although you’d slip among us smiling, Like all the gods you do not really care. So although we know we will go down with you, Huddled, glowering, finally chilled out, How we would love to see you sucked in 83 | WHAT MUST HAPPEN

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I have nowhere to go, not my sister’s, And my arms are thin, look, so thin.

Venus, is that you now, can we dare give up on you?

When you totter by and your breathing’s bad, You think you won’t go in for coffee, And don’t know what you’d do without TV And wonder why girls now always show their chests, We must hang on and hang on To see one more day of us, One more increment to our lives If we can love each other.

Apollo

Now Apollo, we’ve not looked at you, Which of course we can’t and thus does your gaze Make light the perfect metaphor.

Sunny Apollo, I don’t have your eye for stitching, style or shade. I rose once to wedding-gloves of yellow kid But I am no handsome l’homme aux gants. You however were only ever once discomfited, So the story goes, and by your prick of course, Before reason, and you’ve long been above all that. You have no dread of error, no more fear Of losing an argument than losing a girl. The white kine sponged down for you, Trusting heifers lowing upwards to your brow Are brought to their knees by the spreading springs Mystified, noses drizzling blood, the finest voices, Maidens, anointed worshippers.

JEFFREY WAINWRIGHT | 82

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