The man in the monkey (quick draft, poem)

There was a man inside a monkey.

He saw the world through a monkey’s eyes.

He smelled all the smells that a monkey smelled.

He felt the fur, bristling in the cold afternoon breeze.

He tasted flies and other bugs.

He conspired to be head of the monkey community.

He was a monkey.

A monkey. Not inside a monkey. Just a monkey, really.

But, that doesn’t make such a good story, does it?

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s