Issue 140, Fall 1996
How stupid Penelope's suitors must have been,
Each morning as they elbowed for a place
Near her, and cocked their wits, eyeing each other,
Never to notice yesterday's tapestry
Had disappeared, like every day's before.
They kept maneuvering, and they kept score,
Each trying to get the better of his brother.
So each day's small creation went unseen
Unless some main-in-waiting saw that face
Glancing from corners of the tapestry.