A cat noses open my bedroom door, Hops on my bed. Just a pioneer. For in sidle timid whispering deer, Then puma mates, and a shambling bear. Next, tromping heavily alone (Even so, our floorboards groan) A hippo who's too dour to talk. Last? Here comes a penguin flock. Turns out talking beasts have cliques: Hippos won't acknowledge cats And they disdain that clumsy bear Who snorts at silly, timid deer. The Great Chain of Disdain! And all avoid the Penguins--for they snub all. An absolute social line is drawn: Penguins put down everyone! To human readers it'll seem odd, Given that comic waddle and tux-- Adorable dressed-up polar ducks-- But Penguins talk only to God.

NOTES IN THE MORNING

• Penguin shunned: in Berke Breathed's comic strip Bloom County, fundamentalists drove out Opus the Penguin--called him sin incarnate, shouting "Penguin Lust!"
• Talk only to God: a century ago this was said of the Boston Brahmins, that city's notoriously snobby elite; think Charles Emerson Winchester III on MASH.
• So what's it all mean? Ooh, let's go Jungian! Various parts of me just won't talk to each other--but they're all glad to confess to ME--to my dreaming self, the poor old conscious. Like some overloaded shrink with no one to dump on in turn. Except... YOU! Mwahahaha!

  Or maybe not. But it made me laugh.

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