Poems

The Man Who Looked After Suicidal Penguins on the Abandoned Beaches of the World

Melancholy and alone, with a penguin
that’s melancholy and alone on a beach
that’s melancholy and alone. Not rotten.
Not tired. Not ugly. Not mean.

Melancholy, yes. On a trail
of Sargasso weed and death and nets.
The happy bottle. This never fails.
The bottle, the night and a penguin.

Melancholy and alone. A sea of feathers.
Where are your friends, your family?
Drink a little, smile, cry, smoke.

Don’t stroke penguins. That’s Zoophilia.
Don’t confuse sand with surf.
Be grateful. Remember. Reconcile.

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Comments (1)

M Hudson-Connely

A fascinating, evocative poem. Small quibble with the final translation: No reason to capitalize “zoophilia”.

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