On a siren-free night in Philly
Eyes rolling over a cracked, yellow ceiling
Down to the strict unmoving door
A penguin stood, called himself Feodor

My arms hairy, and forehead sweaty
Half undressed, pen in hand, and ready
I was not prepared to face a creature
One whose name was Feodor
Still he stood there like the door

Evenings spent on rigorous writing
Like a drunk man strong and stumbling
Through unshattered communist regimes
I thought of the intelligent machine
A life's work swimming with the ink
Stirred deeply by an uninvited shrink

"Excuse me" like an electric fan I struck
"This is a private residence, you shmuck"
But he didn't seem to give a care
As slowly walking around the room he stared
And with a sureness of an uncaptured shore
He softly stated: "she is a whore"

My pen, at this, fell to the canvas
And madly rose I like I was Elvis
Throwing my finger at the beast
"Who speak of, you, speak now, you tease"
The shadow of his beak formed a cruel smile
As if I was for years in denial about by lovely Eleanor
And again, the penguin: "she is a whore"

I returned into my chair
Resisting feeling that I was somehow unaware
Of all the animal existence that occurred out of my sight
For decades, still, in spite
Of long and spiritual confessions
That sucked the brain with a vacuum's patience
Till nothing but a child's trust remained
And still as steady as I was sure
The penguin went on: "she is a whore"

The pen slid up between my fingers
And started dancing where it usually lingers
Constructing with unruly thickness
A pattern worthy of a solid PhD defense
Until one was to try and make sense
Of its meaning, slowly bleeding,
From an open growing gash
The page revealed a human corpse after the hurricane has roared
The penguin, next to my ear, whispered: "she is a whore"

I slowly turned and sighed like locomotive engines
"You think it is the college neighbors?"
"Or do you suspect the mailman?"
"The landlord, her best friend, her girlfriend Sam?"
"The train conductor that she said knew her"
"Or that fourteen year old boy that's 'sweet'"
"The U.S. gymnastics team, or the President?"
"I always wonder how she affords her half of rent"
Still as if he did not mind the chore
The penguin uttered: "she is a whore"

And suddenly the sun had melted the snow
That showed my mountain untreaded
Revealed was a sobering thought:
"Twas you that brought her feet to her ears"
"Twas you that made her an orgasmic lunch"
"Twas you that made her laugh and smile"
"Twas you that made her happy in her sleep"
"Twas you that made her pussy looser"
"Twas you that made her unafraid"
"Twas you that made her call me 'Fedya'"
"Twas you that displaced the pain of her blue eyes"
I could've gone on with this for hours
If not for the fragile nature of my core
The penguin saw my heart was open
As he screamed out "she is a whore"

And on like this
Through Philly gutters
Through all the sex with Eleanor
Each scratch of pen
Each sip of liquor
Was contaminated by Feodor