A pair of aging penguins
flap their arthritic wings
And slowly wobble their way
down the broken street.
They know the city water is
responsible for their and aches
And pains but have no one
willing to take the blame.
The local bank’s reliable clock
blinks the hour of the day
And the liquor store’s digitized sign
prompts the rushing herd…
Of onlookers to note
the customary ICE raid has gone sour
And postponed for a surprise
return the day after tomorrow.
There will be no crying hatchlings
tonight and a tired mother
Hen and her newborn chicks
will finally get some rest.
Bus fare and cold sandwiches will
once again be ready before sunrise
Tomorrow will be just another day
at the slaughter house.
Up the street
at the trash-covered empty lot
Five adolescent crows
have skipped school and try to hide.
They jiggle to and ‘fro
and tease at each other’s pride
And compare their second-hand
black leather coats.
Across the way, several silverbacks
with blistered hands
Lean against the stalwart
church’s crumbling silent walls.
The jobless troop waits
for another day of dreams to end
with empty pockets once again.
Meanwhile, down at city hall
the newly elected walrus
In a pink tuxedo rests
his tiny legs upon his shiny desk.
Sipping coffee while he stares
at the stars and stripes
pinned in his office wall
while the patronage sloths remain on task…
Down Main Street, a faded reelection banner sways in the contaminated city air.
© jjméndez 2019
Image: 2018 "Where the Wild Things Are" –Free Clip Art.