Poem: Amsterdam

The following is an insanely bizarre, free form poem written in August of 2017.

vegan-doughnuts-1
Image copyright Rose and Bean

There once was a very sad monkey, and he was super into doughnuts.

But the donuts were all sold out. They had been for 75 years.

 

The monkey considered quitting doughnuts.

He could move to Amsterdam, maybe, try something new. But

he’d spent so long defined by donuts he didn’t know how

he’d go on.

 

So he sat in a locked room for 30 days and wondered

who he was

where he was going

what really mattered

 

Would he ever find peace again?

Would he ever be whole again?

Or would he be holey enough to glaze and eat himself?

 

Somebody once offered him a bagel. It was gluten free and he didn’t like it. So he washed his mouth with rosewater and reentered his midlife crisis.

 

The monkey’s friend came along, a french terrier named Kell.

Kell was short for Kellogg’s Frosted Flakes.

Kell was a very nice guy and deserved a very unique name.

After all, good friends are rather uncommon.

 

Kell fed the monkey sushi in his sleep so he wouldn’t starve to death.

The monkey noticed a fishy aftertaste every morning but never connected the dots.

 

One day there was a horrible storm and

The storm came and it tore up trees and telephone poles.

The monkey was hit on the head with a flying paperclip and fell and

Well, he cracked his head pretty badly.

 

The monkey had amnesia.

Which was, weirdly, great for him.

No memory of doughnuts or Disasters or desire.

Just sushi and the friendship he shared with Kellogg the dog.

 

But Kell didn’t know what to do, because

His friend was better, yes, but his passion was gone.

He floated through life with a flat contentment

Unaware of joy, or pleasure, or resentment.

 

He went to his computer and searched up WebMD.

under the symptoms he found a metaphysical disorder

and scanned the treatments. Maybe his friend could be cured.

 

He couldn’t. There was no cure. The monkey was gone.

Just kidding, he was there, just floating along.

Without a care, or a joy, or a semblance of failure.

 

But sometimes when the skies get dark

And the roads glaze over

The monkey half remembers, and he calls it Poetry.

 

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