***

Astrology has also been transformed of late

(A few years back, turns out,

but grief-fog let that revelation slide right by)

The stars themselves have changed —

the map, at least, the narrative

Vast cosmic reordering, all music of the spheres transposed

An altered universe, total astro-structure-shift-type thing —

So much, with new discovery, changed delineations

That — somehow sadly, shockingly — I'm no longer

Even deemed to be of Saturn

Am not that star-signed person anymore

Therefore cannot keep claim to all those traits

Attributed, for good and ill, in brighter, sweeter days

By someone keen to see, and praise

Imputed planetary charms

Willing to indulge, as well

The sundry flaws of nature saturnine

Failings which, now, have no astral excuse . . .

Whatever nasty nature manifests

Whatever perverse will enacts

Cannot be blamed on Saturn

And will not be indulged

Except, perhaps, by empty air

The ever empty chair within the room

Matched now with empty parking spot without

A passing stranger's empty stare

The empty street and empty world

Today I touched the Saturn, still looking fine enough

Stalwart seeming, eager, still intact

Still shining, even, in its pearly purple pallor

Left blithe mechanic, grim garage

And walked away from Saturn

Abandoned her to hateful fate

Mask works, absorbing shameful viral tears

Prised-off licence plates, thin, begrimed

Tight gripped in hot gloved hand.

***

Thanks for reading "Saturnalia."