Simian Crone

in the shadows Old Monkey
still very still,
she labors away

Her widow’s hump.
Her grizzled pelt.
Her chin upon
her boney chest.

Others frolic,
scamper and collide.
She pays them
no mind, rubbing
so fast
her arm blurs.

She has a project,
an obsession, you might say,
What can it be?
Hasn’t she heard?

“Creativity peaks at 40.”

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One Response to Simian Crone

  1. ginny richardson says:

    love this one