I enjoy writing poetry. But it is one of those things I cannot force. If there is one to come out, it will. If not – I should stop trying. And sometimes, I may not be intending to have it be a poem, but it comes out that way.
The Middle Monkey turned 11 during my self-imposed radio silence. My sweet, goofy little huggy monster. This poem was one I wrote about him when he was just a wee little baby. Somewhere around six or seven months. I remember he had this silly little commando crawl – using his little elbows to propel himself across the floor. But, he was FAST! He could make it across the room in no time. Even then, he was devoted to his big brother (they are only 22 months apart). He would lie there on the carpet, watching Monkey #1’s every move. He was particularly interesting in #1’s sippy cups. Middle Monkey never took a bottle (or a pacifier – just his thumb) so when I went back to work after 4 months, he went right to a cup. He had to. So, he KNEW that inside that sippy cup was something good. But, his brother usually had juice, which he wasn’t allowed to have quite yet. But, once he discovered the taste, he knew he wanted more. Hence the poem.
Dedicated to my Middle Monkey
He lies motionless.
He spies his prey.
A sippy cup abandoned on the floor.
Pulling his body towards his defenseless target.
He seizes the taboo grail
Gulping its sweet nectar.
He is discovered.
The cup’s owner has returned.
Yet, he is undaunted.
His claim has been staked.
He wails in frustration
As he is stripped of his prize.
He creeps away.
But he knows if he remains patient
He will be rewarded.