poetry

The People Parade, as told by L’il Foot, the Little Penguin

they’re there all day if you look hard enough
one or two scattered along the boardwalk
hidden in the scrub

but it’s only when the light goes rose
that they gather by the hundreds
wide pockets of bodies
lining the shore

we wait for them to settle down
my mates and me
then when they’re calm and quiet
we move in close
to see them face-to-face

they make so many calls
it’s hard to know what they mean
squealing and cooing
trotting up the path

I like to stand still sometimes
let them flow around me like a river
of legs and eyes and voices
and wonder what their homes look like inside
where exactly are they hurrying off to?

it’s different every night
this evening there were four
who matched each step with mine
as if I were escorting them home
out under the stars together
heading back after a long day’s fishing

we took it easy together
ambling up the hill
the smallest one didn’t even wear trainers
he left his pink feet out in the cold
and his flip flops slapped against
the boards each step

I named him Li’l Toes
and blinked him a quiet goodnight peck
and wished him sweet dreams
wherever he lays his head
before I lost him in the crowd