It was deep in the night of Valentine's Day
That Cupid went a-knocking at my door
Half-asleep I opened, "it's quite late...", I was to say
But recognizing my guest my jaw hit the floor
"Cupid," said I, "in my humble abode?
Cupid, Lord of Love, is that really you?"
"Yeah, yeah," was the answer, "Eros, that's me
Now, pray tell, where's the loo?"
I stood there, awe-struck, flabbergasted,
While in my bathroom, I could ear Cupid pee
In said to myself, "It was good when it lasted
But now it's obvious that for good went away my sanity"
As Cupid returned, I carefully dimmed the light
And tightly closed shut my curtain
A chubby, naked babe in my living room is a sight
That I didn't care my neighbor to learn
"Thank, Mortal, I feel much better now
Believe me when I tell you it's been long, hard day
I wouldn't want to abuse of your hospitality
But wouldn't you have, by any luck, some whiskey?"
I acquiesced, "would some Jack Daniel's do the trick?"
The winged cherub shrugged. "Good man, I seek alcohol"
I tell you, if you can put it on fire, I'll drink it"
I nodded, "I'll get you a glass". He objected. "Make that a bowl"
To the kitchen I went. "Do you want, Eros, a plastic mug
The sake cup, or the glass with the caniche?"
Cupid startled. "You have a glass picturing a shaved French dog?"
He laughed until tears ran down his face. "Oh, that's rich"
I returned to the living room, with the glasses
And the alcohol, (let's not forget it)
I took the sake cup, the caniche to Cupid I did pass
As it was, for reason unknown, causing him much mirth
I poured to both Cupid and I generous rations
Why fear drunkness, or even delirium tremens?
Indeed, how could I fear petty hallucinations
When already seeing an inhabitant of the heavens?
Cupid tasted the liquor, "so, how's life, young Mortal?"
I considered the question. "can't complain. And yours?"
The cherub smiled, "not so bad, even good, all in all"
I raised my glass, "good god, let's talk about l'Amour!"
"Not love again," he whined, "the subject's been beat to death, it's stale"
"Well, then," I replied, "I have, you see, this most peculiar theorem..."
The king of passion gasped, a tremor shook his body, he went pale
"Sorry, love's follies, you said? I would love to talk about them..."
I sighed, quite depressed to see even a godling
Shy away from the golden and shiny road of math
Harsh it may be, but isn't the destination exhilarating?
Truly, it's a pity that so few feet dare thread this path
But a wicked, and rather clever, idea crossed my mind
If life give you lemons, I've been told, make lemonade
But, if it is Cupid and not yellows fruit that I find
I should, logically, be indulged in a quick serenade
I coughed, stirred, not quite at ease, "Well, I was wondering
Since you are the great Eros, (of love the great master)
Could you, by any luck, brighten this Mortal's day of Valentine
By an expert use of your bow and what is in your quiver?"
"Poor Mortal, my quiver is empty of any arrow
Without then, there's no heart I can get at
So, unless you have some I can borrow...
"Alas, weapons I have naught, except a baseball bat"
Cupid sighed, "woeful mortal, great is your sorrow
If you really know so little of Love's lore
Noble sentiments requires the delicate sting of an arrow
Not the rude bluntness of a two-by-four"
I nodded, "so, the right way to do it is to pierce
While it seems strictly, absolutely forbidden to pummel?
I see... I grasp there is a need there to be fierce
But wouldn't it be nicer to just, you know, be gentle?"
"Gentle? Pfah! Love is a fiery passion
A madcap relay race between all extremes
If you are not ready for some contusions
I highly suggest you to pick another theme
Anyway, not that about your feelings I don't give a damn
(although I must confess to be of lovers blasé)
So, for a second, please turn your attention away of dames
Believe it or not, I have important things to say
You see, being the God of Love is cool and nice
But I'm afraid the salary is not proportional to the glamour
And since the good life come with a steep price
I decided to get a second job. So, I became a muse. Yours
"My muse?" I cried, "excuse my raised eyebrow, my boggling eyes
It's not that in your tutelage I'm not interest'd
But, in truth, I always pictured my muse a trifle bigger in size
a little skinnier and, to be truthful, more breast'd"
But your presence here, and your shocking revelation
Forcedly remove from my eyes the sticky veil of false premise
Clinging to the belief of yesterday would be an abheration
'cause it's clear as the light of day that you, sir, are no Miss"
Cupid rolled his eyes, sighed to heaven
"Those mortals! Why your muse should be female?
Is there is something wrong with me? No? What then?
I preethee, be a nice fellow, share with me the tale"
"The truth is simple yet elegant: many guises has inspiration
Take me, I always fancied mine to be of female persuasion
But for many it's an animal, a fiery phoenix or a handsome deer
While for others it's the sensual opium, or the more affordable beer
He sighed, "whatever. I concede, your original muse was a lady
Gaunt figure, raven black hair, white complexion..."
"My!" said I, "Still be my heart, she was a really beauty!"
"...also had seventy-two eyes and came from another dimension"
I didn't know that muses could come from outer space
The idea was strange, but nonetheless appealing to me
It was making sense and explained more than one case
(or, at least, justified my fascination for the turkey)
"So", said I to Cupid, "I had a muse, and have a muse no more
(if, for the time being, we forget you my lord)
What is the reason for her leaving me?
Was I cruel? Of what crime am I guilty?"
The cherub shook his head. "She said she was simply weary
Of all the silliness and nonsense your art is made up
She said she was looking for something with more glory
More pathos, more passion to, like, kick her back in the stirrup"
"She also accused you of stealing lines of every great classic"
I was outraged, "let who never misquoted casts the first stone!"
The angel sadly shook head, "you just did it again, Yanick"
I blushed, looked down, "Oh. right. I'm sorry, how can I atone?"
A that moment came a chirping sound from Cupid's quiver
He started, then pulled out of it a small cell phone
I was curious, up and down my spine raced a shiver
The God of Love was about to take a call, who could it be from?
"Hullo," said the winged one, "Cupid here, who am I speaking to?"
He listened, his eyes went wide, he seemed ready to have a fit,
He covered the mouth piece. "Mortal, you will not believe it,"
"It's your muse, and she wants to have a word with you."
I quaked. It's stupid, I know, but I was scarred, terrified, afraid,
But fear was not an option, so my shaking hand took Cupid's phone
"Hullo you," said she. The tone was familiar, the accent well known,
How could it be otherwise? It was that tiny whispering voice in my head.
At first we talked of small things
Of gossips, of politic, of how the weather sucks
But soon we stopped pretending
And dived into our conversation, to the very crux
"When I left you, of potential hosts I drew a list
(Hosts, for a muse lives within those they inspire)
I gathered my few possessions, kept the paper in my fist
And, quite boldly, began my quest for a new master
She was happy, my foolish, fugacious little self
Thinking that she only had to choose the right store to loot
Then step inside and grab a master straight off the shelf
If only! But masters are not mass-produced, just tailor-suited...
I walked here and there, looking but not finding place to stay
Quite soon, I tell you, I became chilled to the bone
Desperate, I bought a newspaper and in the ads I began to stray
I noted a few names, gathered my courage and went to the first one
His work was full of death, pathos and vengeance
His characters did nothing but curse, wail, rip clothes asunder
The tone was to serious, the themes too intense
Nothing can inspire awe when everything is thunder
I fled him, seeked someone a little more calm
And for my sins found myself with an accountant
He knew the law like no-one, his books like his palm
And it wasn't long before I was begging for some angst
I then ran to a misunderstood artist
All black clothes, deep sighs and gloom and doom
I was fancying a little angst, but I'm no masochist
And this time I found myself longing for more va va voom
After I found a sympathetic wee bit of a lass
Cool writing, not bad ideas, plenty of sass
But with her all friggin' ends were happy
And so full of kisses they were all soggy
Forever searching for the right pollen
From one to the other I went like a little bee
Until I found myself remembering what has been
And how it was not that bad when I was with thee
And there I am, your very own prodigal muse
Humbly asking if you have of me any use
For, as said Chaucer, you do rhyme doggerel
You are purgatory, but your absence is hell"
I smiled, amused, "I'll take that as a compliment
Or at least some cryptic kind of apology
Anyway, consider yourself out of your predicament
Let's end you and I, and begin again as we
Let's join, become one and share all things
Why resist? It's obvious we belong together
Boldly I ask, if I was to offer you a ring
Will you laugh, blush, or give me the finger?"
The muse laughed, it was a sound of delight
She clapped her hands, her tone was bright
"it's cute, it's irrelevant, it's bad
It's what I was looking for, you're my lad!"
I closed the phone, grinned wickedly
Said to cupid, on a tone perhaps too smug
"Bad news, winged one, I'm deeply sorry
But you'll have to look for another job"
"What?" cried the cherub, "you're taking her back in?
You'll forgive just like that this.. this Jezebel?
Are you mad, you know it's for troubles you're asking?
She'll elope again at the first timbre of liberty's bell"
"Cupid, don't you see that the world's a buffet?
That life's goal is to be merry and get stuff'ed?
My muse put a bit of everything in her dish of clay
But for her piece of resistance, it's my breast she wants carv'd"
The chubby angel grimaced, emptied his glass
"I am no longer welcome here, I fear
Oh well, who am I to spoil a happiness so crass
I bid you farewell, and I'm outta here"
I opened the door, gave him my respects
Also shake his hand, gave him a hug or three
I pondered giving his rosy cheek a quick peck
But he was faster and us two became just me
This is the last thing that I remember
Before I awoke in the morning of the 15th
In my ear the distant ring of a laughter
And in my mouth the stale taste of lint
This tale, dear friends, hold many morals
Many subjects of deep and profound meditation
The conclusion may depends of the individual
(Though most will counsel me to seek help and medication)
The morals of the story are, in no real order of importance
Killing mailmen is a sin you should regret, not to mention atone
For it is bad for the spirit, makes the neighbors grow tense
And if you keep doing it, everybody will leave you, all alone
Another one is to always keep your bathroom nice and tidy
For you never know when a god will knock at the door
And while it's okay to return a dead goldfish to the sea
You should never, ever flush down any baby alligator
One more is-- oh, I guess you can figure it out
After all, you read this tale as much as I wrote it
And all the better if you still have any doubts
For there is nothing boring like a story too explicit
And now if you excuse me, my friends, I will leave you
For there is a voice in my head that call my name rather forcefully
I must depart, but before I have to say: this tale is true
Only the names have been changed (to protect the innocent divinity)
Yanick (14/2/2000 - 14/2/2001)