Peter Jay Shippy
You called my Penelope the other
Penelope though mine cropped up
Before your Penelope dared write
A beach novel with fathoms of depth
Beyond the multiplex women south
Of the Connecticut River possess
Healthy appetites and silver plumage
And heck what about the racket
From your PennyŐs ponyŐs ribs I mean
The kids have to drum kit and all that
But itŐs difficult to read with sand
In my PenelopeŐs green eyes and she
Plucks iron bars my Penelope
As the last ship sails to Old Mystic.