National Poetry Month, Day 6.
Ape
You
haven’t finished your ape, said mother to father,
who had
monkey hair and blood on his whiskers.
I’ve had
enough monkey, cried father.
You
didn’t eat the hands, and I went to all the
trouble
to make onion rings for its fingers, said mother.
I’ll
just nibble on its forehead, and then I’ve had enough,
said
father.
I
stuffed its nose with garlic, just like you like it, said
mother.
Why
don’t you have the butcher cut these apes up? You lay
the
whole thing on the table every night; the same fractured
skull,
the same singed fur; like someone who died horribly. These
aren’t
dinners, these are post-mortem dissections.
Try a
piece of its gum, I’ve stuffed its mouth with bread,
said
mother.
Ugh, it
looks like a mouth full of vomit. How can I bite into
its
cheek with bread spilling out of its mouth? cried father.
Break
one of the ears off, they’re so crispy, said mother.
I wish
to hell you’d put underpants on these apes; even a
jockstrap,
screamed father.
Father,
how dare you insinuate that I see the ape as anything
more
than simple meat, screamed mother.
Well
what’s with this ribbon tied in a bow on its privates?
screamed
father.
Are you
saying that I am in love with this vicious creature?
That I
would submit my female opening to this brute? That after
we had
love on the kitchen floor I would put him in the oven, after
breaking
his head with a frying pan; and then serve him to my husband,
that my
husband might eat the evidence of my infidelity … ?
I’m just
saying that I’m damn sick of ape every night,
cried
father.
--Russell
Edson
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