Waiting for Odysseus

For twenty years Penelope wove

And fanned the hearts of suitors

Her threads and thimble, dipped and dove

While chaps just played to loot her

Her eyes they ached, from stich and sun

The unquenchable glances seaward

‘Dear Gods, oh where has my man gone?’

(Her pleas stayed largely ignored)

A burial shroud she set to make

Twas almost her undoing

For work by day, she did forsake

Unpicked! (to stall the wooing)

Her old man comes, disguised at first

To see how fair she’d played him?

Sees men, shacked-up, their lust and thirst

But Pen, ‘his rock’ still sewing

Ner’ mind he’d rogered Circe

And Calypso, well what a FLING!

We’ll overlook his flirting

In light of their vows and… a ring

A trial was set, the blokes were told:

‘Ody’s bow, go string the thing’

Twelve axe heads, shoot! The game was sold

The prize? A slap-up wedding

A futile effort, they clawed and pawed

The bow too large and onerous

Then out leapt O, strung-up and roared

POW, POW! Home now, a slaughterhouse

‘Ay-up, cock!’ Penelope cried

Uncertain, be he tinker or tailor?

'Is that my fella? My love? My pride?'

‘Indeed’ he boomed ‘tis I, your sailor’

A test was due (she liked these, true)

To check his authenticity

‘My bed awaits, shall I move it to you?

Pray tell, would it suit you, my pretty?’

Odysseus chuckled, he saw the trick

‘My dear, you’ll be sorry you tried

For unless armed with shovel, with bucket or pick

That bed would quite have you defied’

‘My hands they did craft it, from sweet olive tree

That grows from the floor of our homestead’

With this Pen’s heart raced, the wonder the glee!

Then into his strong arms she imbed

Now Ody and Pen, were happy once more

The moral, I think it be clear

Don’t wander too far from your own front door

(At least not for more than a year)