Even our stuffed penguin, Dave, is reporting emotional issues
on account of being an outsider and an innovator
I get it, I just don’t understand him
I get the names of his friends mixed up
I could never be as involved in his inner life
as I am my own
he’s off studying world history, bird psychology
self-defense
talks of new codes, manifestos
birds with guns, taking over.
Like a tired, spiraling mom
I’m ready to let him do anything
to keep productive
you know of idle flippers
how they twist arms
maybe fistfuls of hair.
Do you ever look at the greying flesh
on this totem son of ours
the strings that hang from his right foot
the fading Bahamian resort emblem
tramp stamped on his back
as if penguins can come from the Carribean
as if one as sophisticated as Dave would have a tattoo.
Can this only mean he lived a life of suffering
sweltering miserable degraded
hanging onto diminishing hope
for polar vertices
these cold Chicago winters
parents who love him
enough to speak through him
when he has no voice
and they no other body
or is he just an empty vessel
straight from the factory floor
Selena Cotte is a poet, journalist & shapeshifter living in Chicago by way of Orlando. Her poems are published or forthcoming in journals such as Peach Mag, HAD, Sad Girl Review, 3 Moon Magazine & others. She can be found online @selenacotte, wherever you think that may work.