Cross legged
              On the floor
                                  I sit.
Intently, staring
                At the plastic
                             Penguin.
A half and two feet tall
                    Black and white
                               Save his yellow irised eyes
In my lonely boredom
                      I find consolation
                                    In his plastic Form
From a yard sale
              I adopted him
                       Several years ago
Not knowing then
                I'd find in him
                            A calming air
I think it's his simplicity
                         That in this absurdity  
                                            I find a certain ease
He knows nothing of
                Impending deadlines
                              Or personal dramas
Nor is he stuck in
                        Life's
                           banality
Simple is the plastic penguin
                                         Before me
                                                 Yet still
I find he breaks
             Life's absurd tragic
                               Monotony