Monkey Business

Monkey business “I say how about breakfast at The New Farmer’s” Our day of picking and consuming done no hunger induced nightmares, we rest dusk to dawn check on the young ones. Are we all here? tomorrow we return for another early breakfast at The New Farmers' it's sugar cane on the menu well done, defoliated by fire sweet smell of wild honey a hive of flavours of molasses wash down milky white green corn we're going on tortoise-paced on fast food centipedes, scorpions rocking our pillows going green for the season, shedding the load off Triangle's aged sugar mills we have suffered enough, chums in the hands of the farmer, old and new alike globalising of our territories, present day terrorism landmines all over Were they seeding sweet potatoes? Long rooted explosives have been going off in the crossfire of war ghosts sounds of corn popped in shovels by rustic labourers for lunch tearing our species limb from limb we dare not bore deep into the woods for sustenance Reap where they have sown! Yeah! They will see red, develop high BP when we up our tails, march with a swag Ho-me! Ho-me! Ho-me! Ho-me! cobs, canes in snouts and armpits Their sentinel will go round anthills like the looney canine of the long-playing "His Master's Voice," ever so poised for a jump, off the vinyl scratches, stuck in the groove giving Chacma a bad name; “Command field, roger reporting marauding baboons destroyed plots alpha to romeo zeroing into zulu, roger send delta oscar gulf sierra over and out."