Olive decided that she’s had enough.
Popeye was a crude sailor,
Bluto a bullying lout.
Sure, it was fun sometimes
when they fought over her
as the blinked her eyes
was a boost to her ego.
But she had outgrown that sort of thing.
She realized that she was a woman
whereas Popeye and Bluto
would always be overgrown boys.
And both were working class.
What sort of life
could they really offer her?
She was raised for better things.
And so she decided that she was through with dive bars.
She would only mingle with the
upper crust of society and one magical night
she found the sort of man
she was looking for. He was elegant from
his top hat down to his polished shoes
and his spats, from his monocle
to his walking stick and his white gloves.
Here was a successful man —
owner of the Planters Company and
an advertising icon in his own right,
with his picture plastered on
peanut jars and cans worldwide.
At last, Olive lived in luxury
and never wanted for anything,
except maybe a little more attention
now and then.
But he was busy.
He had a corporation to run and a product to promote
so it was not surprising
that he returned home at all hours
and some nights not at all.
Yes, she heard the rumors
about him and Betty Boop
but she paid them no mind.
All famous people are subject
to vicious gossip and lies
in the tabloids. It was the downside
of an otherwise perfect life.
She ignored the rumors
until once when she
was still awake at 2:00 a.m.
and, looking out the window,
saw his limousine pull into the driveway,
saw the flailing of a pair
of shapely legs in the
back seat, heard the
euphoric squealing and
"Boop boop a doop!"
Olive stood at the window in the dark
and waited for him.
She heard the limo leave
as he instructed his chauffeur
to take the slut home.
When he walked in the door
she turned on the lights and saw
his face, all covered with
lipstick. She grabbed
his walking stick and hit
him with it repeatedly
until his shell cracked and,
with her size 15 shoes, stomped on his nuts
until they were nothing but crumbs.
She packed a bag and left the house,
vowing never to return.
She always loved the night
but now not even the
chill foggy air could cool her rage. — Jeff Barnes