woman's work

the textile arts proved Agamemnon's bane
instead of robes, he dried out in a net
his life spilled out like water down the drain
immortalized in verse, so none forget
Penelope wrought night-long at her loom
a gorgeous shroud of regal length and breadth
to wrap Laertes in his fam'ly tomb
her virtue's no less certain than his death
her cousin's web was knotted dense with hate
as she slept with his cousin on the sly
to snip off short her husband's thread of fate
surviving war, he came back home to die
no towel greeted Klytemnestra's lord
whose lady-like white  hand gripped firm his sword