The Monkey Whose Job It Used to Be to Sit on Miss Peach’s Shoulder
Takes Up Olde Timely Music
There is a cartoon about everything
I’ve ever done.
Whoa whooooa whoa
Remember the episode
about the tiny banjo the pink—gummed monkey thumps
plink plink plink with his dirty nails?
The Easter special about his one good friend being gone?
I wait by the petal—sick river
for the hatred to subside. My belly at least
is soft to me and kind
in the way of getting full. Most things never doooooooooooo.
Have you ever woken up sideways with a small carcass and fleas
only to become the inspiration for all flowers made of other tiny flowers
the very next day?
Strum strum strum
The past is not so bad.
It’s full of lights.
Chord chord chord
Like the past, the monkey sleeps in the trees at night
under an unflinching moon and brushes
his own smart, flying tail.
Tittledy tittledy toooooooooooooooo In the morning
sweet sunshine between his hairs
is no crime. When you wake up and his big smile seems
too close and maybe a little borrowed,
he learned it from you.
OOoooooo ooooooo oooooooooooooo