The Ballad of Tux

It was just this morning. That it was. At the table there sat only three. There was Tux, the foam Linux penguin. The others were my oatmeal and me. I never do tire of oatmeal. But the penguin was growing old. I stared at its unmoving face As my oatmeal began to get cold. The face on this penguin companion, Which ten years on my table had been, Speaks with remarkable eloquence Despite its immovable grin. I found my thoughts drifting to boyhood To my grandmother’s green backyard Where I gathered and ate fallen walnuts, Eating insides, the shells to discard. From that walnut tree, a rope swing hung That could lift you to clouds in the sky. From the world below, it made you free. Like an eagle, it helped you to fly. To sky I’d climb from wine grapes below. The magic swing would descend and rise. To its rocking reeling rhythm and rhyme, Plans and dreams would emerge and arise. As that swing left the orbit of earth Making people the size of small fleas, So, too, I would leave for strange lands afar And sail away across distant seas. One day, I would be a brave hero - And defeat villains, nefarious, And with help from my trusty sword, I’d be Extricated from jams, precarious. When I could, I’d refrain from violence, And peacefully take Billy the Kid. Then, I’d be off to the world’s other side To the Taj Mahal and the Great Pyramid. I’d go to London and Paris And see artworks of beauty and grace And resplendent castles of kings and queens And one day marry a princess named Grace. “Wait a second”, interrupted the penguin. “You never did that or any such thing, Before or after that conference From whence me to this table you’d bring”. This penguin had the nerve to tell me, “It’s junk heap time for you and your sword”. So, I tossed him in the recycling bin Along with my flattened cardboard.