Poetry – Monkey Business

Monkey Business

Making love to a monkey who doesn’t think she’s a chimpanzee

Floating through the dust with a baby on my knee

Leaving signals in the wind for the other folks to see

That there’s nothing quite as smart as your average monkey

Frowning with consternation at the cosmic flow

Streaming from the arse of the ‘big bang’ below

With a monkey brain to fathom the bottomless low

And a population set to endlessly grow,

Yet I’m making love to another chimpanzee

Populating paradise with big bald monkeys

We’re taking over – temporarily

Floating monkey droppings in the big brown sea.

Opher 20.11.00

This is the age of the monkey. It looks set to be a brief interlude in the history of the planet. Most of the monkeys don’t even know they’re monkeys let alone where their arse is. You think they would. They talk out of it most of the time.

We are the fourth major cause of extinctions of species. The others were comets. We shot out of evolution like a meteor though. We’re still crashing our way through the planet.

We love sex. We love babies. We seem to hate other adults though.

On one side we are doing our best to churn out huge numbers of offspring and at the same time we’re busy pouring lead into older bodies or applying blades to the jugular.

Crazy monkey brains!

The first person in this poem refers to the race as a whole.

The short message is that there’s far too much monkey business!

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