A Penguin Poem

The webbed toes gave it all away
but there was always the willingness

to look towards the horizon. Tall
orange mixed in with a blue

that just goes and goes. "Ruffled
feathers are a sign of agitation"

they would mutter to each other,
under their breaths that were all

too easy to see and feel, their khaki
pants matched the blood in their veins.

the water was cold even though we had
ordered for no ice, just straws. but

they still plunged in, black beaks
held forward like starter's pistols.

the water would have felt refreshing
but it didn't.