Don’t know about you, but I think it’s stupid
To give lethal weapons to a diapered Cupid
(and what happens when he’s gotta go?)
See his soft feathered wings?
(Those fat little things!)
They flutter fast as he flies to and fro
But as he tries to take aim
To start the Valentine game
He sees the earth rushing up from below
For he keeps sinking down
And hitting the ground
Overburdened by his arrows and bow
He comes to our planet just one day a year
To practice his skills as a shootist
The rest of the time he’s hidden away—
What’s he do in absentia? Be a flutist?
‘Cuz he sure can’t shoot straight, this fat little angel,
Child of eros and chaos and earth
I wonder if Venus had any idea
He’d be so fickle, so playful, perverse
Some of his arrows are gold-tipped,
The tips of the others are lead
And where the gold ones inspire amoré,
The lead ones breed hatred instead
Yes, he’s armed & he’s dangerous,
This chubby fly boy
And he’s out of control in the air
At sweet couples kissing,
He keeps shooting & missing —
Hither & yon, over here, over there
So I say, Watch out for that cherub!
Stay out of his way!
Young lovers, go, take cover now!
Give one another a bear hug
And try to live through this day –
Look, he just hit a tree – Holy Cow!
Like I said, it’s just stupid
To arm this babe, Cupid,
To entrust him with arrows and bow
For while he can fly, he just can’t shoot straight
And I don’t want his hands to be holding my fate
I tell ya, he’s just got to go
Before something happens
And his lead-headed weapons
Accidentally break the heart of my beau
The Rio Grande Valencia Poets (the Valencia County Chapter of the New Mexico State Poets Society), issued a challenge to its members: Write a Valentine’s poem without using the word, “love”. Well, this is my demented response to that challenge…