Desert Penguin

by  

Eric Schoonover

Gloucester Winter © T. M. Nicholas

Gloucester Winter © T. M. Nicholas

I walk down the street that looks at the sea:
Gorton’s smoke and smells muddle, and I feel like a desert
penguin, scuffing the gaudy snow that falls and falls
and I look at the sea with its own wavy snowspots.

You said I could see over to County Mayo; hardly. But our
cousin’s from there. The harbor-birds hunch aboard housetops,
as I walk down the street that looks at the sea. They think of
a take-off, but then worry a full-flap landing, flashing the snow.

There’s nothing of her distant Ireland in view. Just wind, that’s all
and our cousin slaps the mop at the messy snow that I’ve tracked
on the floor as the window looks at the sea, streaked with its
melting snowdrops. Then she mingles her whiskey with weeping.

I feel that my life must flop in the snow and I borrow from the
colleen’s brew, for my days are like shadows constantly seeking
the white of the snow, of the flecked sea, of purity of thought
. . . as I walk down the street that looks at the sea.

11-13 February 2017

 

eric-schoonoverEric Schoonover, Professor Emeritus of American literature and literature of the sea, lives in a small 1735 Cape Ann cottage with his wife, a writer. His most recent book, Telling Tales, was published in 2016.

 

Your comments are more than welcome. We prefer to know your real name. Please tell us what you think, and why. Thank you

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s