Man In The Middle Of The Street

The day's noise was draining away in my mind
and the light from behind my eyes
when savage Cypris grabbed a handful of my hair
and yanked me up
and gave me hell, so:
"You, my creature, my cocksman, my gash-hound,
you I catch sleeping alone?
Get on with it!
So I leap up and barefoot, bathrobe flapping,
I rush down every alley in town
and reach the end of none.
Like a man chasing a bus, running one minute,
the next ashamed to run,
afraid to go home,
terrified of looking silly
standing here like this
in the middle of an empty street
hearing not one human voice
not a sound but an occasional backfire
not so much as a dog.
Am I the only man in the city without a bed of my own?
No pension plan, hard goddess, for your oldest campaigner?