What did Penelope imagine
when she stared out
across the sea?
Her man fighting waves,
and storms, and beasties
between her and thee?
Did she think for a moment,
Did she consider a whim,
That whist he was away
Another woman
was sleeping with him?
Sure, she was his forever,
his harbor at home,
But while the winds took him away,
Another’s arms were entwirled,
Around his neck, and his torso,
His chest, and his thighs.
Staring, deeply,
so deeply,
into his big brown eyes.

She must’ve considered a possibility, this–
Another one receiving
his gentle sweet kiss,
That came with no promises,
and also no remorse
For it was what it was.
Nothing that mattered, of course.
Just touching and holding,
Moaning at night, (occasionally in the morning, at dawn’s early light.)
But always he’d leave, and turn his ship back toward home.
Where Penelope’d wait, never believing he’d roam.

As for the other woman, well, she’d remember his scent,
and be grateful for the time,
so sweetly they’d spent.
And she’d go back to her life.
And what would be, would still be.
She’d look herself in the mirror.
I see myself in the mirror.
The other woman is me.