The Greeks like to sing of their love for a boy,
Young and lithe and oft golden of curl.
They fawn for broad shoulders and smirk curling coy
But I beg the gods: give me a girl.
Let the Greeks pine for angles, hard edges, and planes—
I will take each lush curve as a favor.
Let them savor the sweetness in masculine names—
I have never much cared for the flavor.
While the Greeks march to battle in long, sloe-eyed lines,
Slyly stroking their swords to attention,
I will bask on the terrace and bathe in spiced wine
With the maidens they don’t deign to mention.
Let the Greeks feed their fervor for brother and burl,
But I beg the gods gracious: oh, give me a girl!