the funny monkey wearing glasses
tsking on a high wall, combing himself
the other monkeys cleaning. every few
seconds a monkey will stop, take a hair
from its mouth, look at it. their touch
is suspicious language. the funny monkey
mumbles a lie, puts on pants

decides to finish himself
in another part of the forest. the others
are talking about him, drawing his face
into one another’s backs. some of them can’t
recall his name, which is like having to ask
for love, which is worse. the funny monkey
stepping back, running away, is being pulled
tighter in a sling that will shoot him
forward through evolution’s
slight investment, until he is
scratching himself, printing off reason
in sheets of bills

we pay off our interest this way
we fund our entitlement
and in this way we lose our planet
but pretend not to notice