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Monday, October 20, 2014

Come To The Window


I can't remember a time
without the organ grinder.
He has always been there.

With very little sleep,
he is up before the sun.
Pushing his cart through the dirty streets.

I sit on the shoulder of his worn coat,
thick with the stale smell of cigarettes.
Wearing a silver chain around my neck
and that silly little hat.

I do not mind these things.
I love the organ grinder
and the music that he plays.

How I wish I could explain
these feelings that I have.
But I am only a monkey.

Please open your window
when I tap, tap on the glass.
I can see you in the kitchen.
Your face lights up
as I crawl across the ledge.

You know the songs
that spill from his machine,
and I have them memorized.
Yours is a beautiful voice.
Won't you share it with me?

So many tenants in this building,
drawn together by poverty.
Each with a story to tell.

I will visit them all
and hold out my cup
for a laugh and a smile.
I have a few tricks
that I know you'll enjoy.

I don't care about the coins.
I may even nibble one by accident,
wishing instead that it were a biscuit.
It's a reasonable misunderstanding.
I am, after all, a monkey.

Let me sit at the bottom of your bed
while you run to fetch a knife
and cut an orange into portions for me.

I can stay a little while,
but not forever.
Two refrains, at most.

Then I should go,
climb back down to the sidewalk.
My heart belongs to the organ grinder.

1 comment:

  1. This was good fun. That sweet monkey held my attention until he disappeared with the organ grinder.

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