Io and Jove: On the Theft of her Voice

Io had it all…
A fat cat daddy…
And a house on the coast.
Beauty, brains,
This girl was built.
In her salon she excelled...
Small talk or substance,
The news of the day…
Io told it all…
She could talk until
the cows came home.
Who would have dreamed
That the dregs of society
Could dress in the raiment of royals?

A frenzied pursuit,
And the fog closes in.
His voice thunders, “By Jove
I'm a king,
She’s a cow!
I'll teach this
foolish heifer how
To pay proper respect to a royal.”
Jove pursues Io
And when the deed’s done...
Once lovely, refined
Is boorishly bovine.

Her fatuous father?
Displays of outrage!
Demands for justice!
Those gods have gone too far!
Her superior sire simply
hands her some hay.
“You were difficult as a daughter
But I thought you’d wed a god…
And now...as a cow
...perhaps a brahmin born bull..."

Disheartened Io continues to roam
Her sad cow eyes
In search of a home,
Until finally
The gods take pity.

Io has it all…
A fat cat daddy…
And a house on the coast.
Beauty, brains,
this girl is built.
But as far as entertaining
In her tony salon…
These days
She’s afraid to open her mouth.
Who knows what might come out?
A cheerful bon mot
Or a mournful moo,
Better to sit
quietly
in her corner.

Image: Wilhelm Bauer (1600 - 1642): Nuremburg