I can’t write worth a damn or speak coherently while drunk or stoned. Some might suggest I can’t do any of that sober. I do the best I can and however good that is, I think it’s better with a straight edge. I cite that vanity whenever I address the curious lack of recreational substance abuse in my life. There are some old videos, photos, and personal accounts of the excess that occasionally characterized my younger days, though not much in writing. This poem is an exception to that. I wrote it in a cloud of reefer madness. Pretty sure it was Spring of ’92. Why spend Memorial Day thinking only of those who gave their lives in warfare? That’s what we do, isn’t it? Thinking only of that? Let’s take a moment to Memorialize our species,  a moment of projection for that future Memorial Day when there are no humans remaining to acknowledge the fallen. The paranoia seems so mainstream and middle of the road in today’s political climate, though the potential ecological/nuclear/biological warfare catastrophe has been in the works for decades. On a lighter note, I tend to be more hopeful and positive today than I was when I wrote this. I suspect the climate around me is not so much that way.


When they finally found out the monkey could speak,

They put his signifyin’ ass to work.

Stupid little monkey, they said.

But he was smart enough to know the boss is a jerk.

Stupid little monkey, they said.

But she busted the copy machine and set herself free.

So they launched their missiles, rolled their tanks,

And burned the whole fucking jungle to the ground.

Stupid little monkey.

No stupid little monkey to be found.

So they finally found out the monkey could hide.

They looked inside themselves,

There was their goddamn clever monkey

Imitating the song that made the Earth.


Hell is something known. Heaven is something weird.

Work might keep you busy. Love might get you high.

But when they found out we all is monkeys,

They killed us all with suicide.

About Adam Broad

Citizen Dad/Lisa's Guy. He/Him/His. My affiliations don't always speak for me and I don't always speak for them. View all posts by Adam Broad

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 )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google 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

%d bloggers like this: