James B. Nicola
I understand you started to apply astrology
ere entertaining unwont thoughts in regard to me.
But, darling: Scorpio, for one, is no long-tailed stinging beast,
only a bunch of stars which, like the moon, rise in the east.
And Virgo is no maiden chaste determining a trait
of those born in her month. (What an insufferable fate
that would be.) Now at last you’ve told me that you cannot spell.
Ah—This explains the reason you’ve been putting me through hell:
What makes you mean is myth—a lie—not based on what I am,
for my sign’s not “Ares,” god of war, but rather like a lamb.
James B. Nicola is a writer.