Flocks of flightless waterfowl
(Flightless lest they drop their towel)
Migrate, weirdly, east to west–
I think it’s weird, but they’d know best
Which path prevents the solar ‘clipse
Of soggy dawn by drippy hips.
Though once upon a time the herds
Were thick as cottage cheese with curds
Or dandelions on my lawn,
Those days have passed, their masses gone
The way of cigarettes in bars
And children unrestrained in cars.
The few remaining spend their days
Inventing ever weirder ways
To draw attention from the fact
That though their wings are still intact
As aeronautic aids they’re worth
A dingo’s derriere in Perth.
They’ve not exactly been enbrinked–
They’re flightless, but they’re not extinct
Or even close–but nonetheless
Their species’ self-esteem’s a mess.
You truly are a sorry thing when
You’re a migratory penguin.


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