Monkey Turns Down Promotion
“I hereby appoint you head of the asylum.”
The young office monkey with the plastic stethoscope
was dressed neatly in a white sheet.
“Dr. Freud, I presume?”
Monkey held out his hand
but his witticism was lost in a flood of water
flowing from the flush and over the floor.
Monkey stood there, paddling in piddle.
Inmates with crowded heads and vacant faces,
fools grinning at a universe of folly,
paddled beside him.
He wiped a sick one’s drool from his sleeve.
The office boy spat on his hands,
slicked down his hair,
and placed his stethoscope on monkey’s heaving chest.
“You have no pulse.”
“How do you know I have no pulse?
Surely, you cannot hear my heart
for you have a banana stuck in your ear.”
“Speak up!” said the doctor, “I cannot hear you:
I have a banana stuck in my ear.”
Then monkey felt fear.
Daylight diminished and waters closed over his head.
He spurned the proffered paw,
the life belt thrown by the offer of a new position.
Exit monkey left, pursued by a chorus:
“Run, monkey, run!”