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Poem

Penelope’s in a hopeless quandary, backed into a corner.
She enjoyed the flirt of youth. Had no one warned her?
She rejected freedom of reflection. ‘Who’s she? ...not a saint.’
Penelope painted on her face, mirror-perfection - faithfully quaint.
Platinum blonde tresses, like a fisherman’s net, she caught men.
Each quiver would fall helpless -  guts and glory auf wiedersehen.*
Poison of poise and perfume - ahh, ylang ylang like chains.
With serpentine strength of a boa, in crushing the mighty, she reigns.
Caught by two knights, found unfaithful, she’s dragged to the quay.
“The truth,” one spit out. The other, “You witch!”   ‘Another day
perhaps she’d do penance.’  She struck fast with doppelganger asps,
fastidiously holding them below their necks, she’d practiced the grasp.
Dear, sweet, tears - she’d developed an antivenom and a liar’s remorse.
Delicate angel, tender child -  she fights fire with fire not with brute force.
She drops to her knees as the knights dive and she releases the snakes.
“Oh why! Oh why would these men leap to their deaths over me?”
The guards believe the improbable, gushing to her aid. Penelope’s free.

2/12/2021
Mind Your P's and Q's Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Michelle Faulkner
Word list:
Penance  Poise Perfume Platinum
Quay Quiver Quandary Quaint


*auf wiedersehn - goodbye

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