THE REAL THING


‘You don’t send men where you haven’t sent the monkey.’
XXMo­on landing conspiracy th­eorist

I sleep all alone,
­I’m afraid of the phone,
XI’m cold in my c­ushioned cocoon.
XXYet I do have a dear one
XX(though hardly a near one) --
the monkey they left on the moon.

Enthroned in his crater,
he feeds me raw data,
Xlike jam on a runcible spoon.
XXHe’s handsome and brave,
XXand I’ve made him my slave --
the monkey they left on the moon.

I’m lithe as a trout
(that’s the yoga, no doubt),
Xthough my mouth falls in pleats like a prune.
XXAnd I’m pliably thumbed,
XXwhich is why he succumbed --
Xthe monkey they left on the moon.

No true heart is miffed
by a Valentine’s gift,
Xand a lunar one’s quite opportune.
XXSure, he’ll save me some crust
XXas a pledge of his trust --
Xthe monkey they left on the moon.

From a drifting cloud’s brink
the bright orb seems to wink
Xlike a space pirate’s stolen doubloon,
XXand it bribes me to yearn
XXthat he’ll safely return,
Xand tomorrow would not be too soon,

and it tips me its gleam
like a prospector’s dream,
Xbefore banking to Earth in a swoon,
XXand it funds me to hope
XXhe’ll be learning to cope --
Xthe monkey they left on the moon.