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,

please remember:

he learned it from you.

OOoooooo ooooooo oooooooooooooo