Dirty Filthy Monkeys
Deep words
fill up and spill out,
complicating what was happy
to remain simple.
Seriousness is a dirty joke
that happens to sound clean.
Why cover the meaningless
with pain?
We could laugh.
We could run
for the feel of the wind,
the burn of restless legs.
Instead we like things dressed
in flashy pedantics,
habitual mess.
We're lethargic, but compressed
by our ways of labeling time.
Now it's hard, the easiest fun
looks dirty and unsophisticated.
Our swing sets rust
as we grow up fast,
to sip our wine from fancy cups.
We're too busy to learn
about a place in Africa where certain kinds
of monkeys exchange sexual favors
for food sharing and friendship.
Maybe we should try this again.
Copyright © Erin Beckett | Year Posted 2013
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