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!