.................................
Mt Olympus, Tennessee
.................................

Overhead, Orion's clanging his belt
beating at pipes to make the air conditioning work.
You need this boy's attention like a hole in the head
but don't say I didn't warn you --

Ain't you seen the movie where the strapping
good for nothing says- 'come here often?' -
and the nice girl skips town to be his one and only?
Mark my words, hon', he's gonna offer the moon and the stars,

but that and a six pack will get you knocked up plenty.
If you're smart, you'll listen to Daddy and get to your room.
Don't try to hold out for the doublewide behind his mama's
and a nine to five down at the mill, you ain't got nothing

he can't steal. He's been sniffing around here for days,
little girl, scratching at itches he can't have.
You say he ain't the patient kind? Well, neither am I!
If he lays more than his eyes on you

it'll be over: before the sun sets on Mount Olympus
he'll find himself blind drunk and up to his ass in hot water.
No daughter of mine - shut up and get to your room...
I don't have to take this shit, you know.

 
.................................
On Sunday Mornings
.................................

Charlie Chan comes on at ten on Channel Nine,
and my parents will not begin their fight
for another hour, so I take advantage
of the silence to watch Number One Son
imitate his father. He tries so hard
to understand, I understand, and though
some fathers might well hang the moon,
their motives are rarely clear to me,
even on television.

How white my father's hands appear
against his Sunday suit, so black, the tie
a striped and understated strip of cloth
he bought half price on a clearance rack
for someone else's funeral. One day,
not too many years ahead of me,
I'll pull that same suit from his closet
to dress him for his final rest. Just now,
however, he waves his hands wildly, alive
with anger and frustration -- I left the milk
out again, or some similar transgression.

Isn't it funny how we never questioned
the Western eyes, or the actor's name:
Charlie Chan, the amiable Swede
who died a lonely drunk, alone
and was then replaced so easily?
And Number Two, I watched him too;
such respect and so discreet,
you'd never stop to think he might have known
that nothing was quite what it seemed.
So, how could I have known? A quiet girl
who eats cold fried rice in fear on chinette plates
and sips her Lipton tea from plastic cups
would never dare to ask another soul to clarify
just what she already should have guessed.
And Charlie Chan? He always managed
to set a most dignifying tone:

"Ahh so," he'd nod and whisper, so serene, "Ahhh so".

 
.................................
Your Cheating Heart
.................................

Think brass, not gold;
the Five and Dime stuff.

Out of your mouth - I'll take coffee this time -
the damndest things.
You'd be amazed at what I'd believe.

Rolled quarters last night for a reason
to keep the light on. You said I want too much.
Not too much -- only coffee

and something to believe in.
Do you think I shouldn't ask for these things?
Give me a light and something to wipe my mouth with,

this time, I didn't see it coming.

 
.................................
Jupiter
.................................

The Galilean Satellites look pale tonight:
those four girls in the corner watching me
watch you. Wait! I'm not looking
for a cosmic event, just dinner and drinks;
maybe a spin around the block, top down,
to facilitate. Into the crook of my arm - your neck,
your velvet dress, your flesh. Do I dare ask
for a little of that? "Come here often?"
my voice resonates as I arc past your back,
my one red eye always winking, winking.

.................................
Penelope Davis Greenwell
.................................

 
Copyright © Penelope Davis Greenwell
August 2000

...a poem in this room by Rain Jordan...
the story of eleven naval men
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