LXXI. Purple Rain and Penguins in Pain!

I read Auden, and claim

I too understand pain.

Why Icarus flew too close

And got doused in yellow rain.

I read Auden as he absorbs

Like a sponge on a hot summer day

The suffering of the world

On a single white page.

I know not war or famine,

Only that of the mind.

Why then does a broken bond

Make my heart abscond—

All reason and rationale?

I still wait for you to land,

Wildflowers in hand.

A boombox in the pouring rain,

Bah! my silly romcom brain-

Works with all its might...

As we dance in the purple rain

On a cold summer night!

I call your name

As I read Auden

And claim

I too know pain!

I finish reading out my mopey poem with a flourish and wait for the little Martian to admonish me for my sappy idiocy.

But the little Martian just looks at me now, a funny little glisten shining bright in his ivy orbs.

"What?" I ask him, worried now.

I usually count on the Martian to douse my emotionality with a steaming heap of rationality, but he seems apprehensive, and my agitation grows.

"What?" I ask him again.

The Martian meets my eyes. "Nothing, I just—"

"Yes?"

"Kind of hoped this spaceship would fly."

"Me too, LM, me too. But we all have a penguin."

"A penguin?"

"A spaceship that we love, that never takes flight. An adorable, cozy, warm, and lovable spaceship, with wings that just don’t take off... for evolutionary reasons... or something else, deep and distant and undefinable..."

"Ha. That’s deep. Who came up with that? Hemingway?"

"Netflix." I reply with a snort.

"So, this is a penguin spaceship then?" asks the little Martian, more eager for reassurance than even me.

"Yes, until further notice, this is a penguin spaceship."

"Penguins can't fly, but they sure as hell can swim. " - A wise lad.