Monkeys can go nearly anywhere they please.
Tiger would sit across from her, listening,
head resting upon his great dubious paws
as Monkey told him of the mad things she’d seen
this time, during her frolics in the city.
The mischief flickering in her eyes, the flick
of her tail, the ruffle of her fingers midsentence,
showing him, “It was as wide as this!”
One day, with immense slowness, he decided that
he, as deservedly as she, should see the city.
They tromped through a village jammed blood-full of bumpkins
side-by-side, their strides somehow happily matched.
The villagers’ eyes were too obvious, their terror barely
overpowered by horror at such an unholy pairing.
Tiger met Monkey’s gaze, read carefully, finally asked:
of course, she noticed, she said. But she didn’t care.
— Gord Sellar, April 2004
April 30, 2004