A new poem by Greg Bell

A Penguin

Bewildered and starving in his kingdom
of grief and self
reflection comes to believe enough is enough,

having clumsily failed at the one thing
she’d left to him.
With no wrists, a slippery neck,

cracked and hollow heart he starts out,
hell-bent, veering out of the cold
into the cold, a tottery black cone

marching alone over the frozen ocean
below (the only road he’s never
known). Polarized, without a friend,

the unrepentant wind blends him invisible –
with all that time
in the blind-eyed world tunnelling behind.