Sunday, February 7, 2016

                             The (Monkey) King and I

The signs
were there.

In Xian
On the street
The Monkey King
catching a smoke                                       



At dinner
the darling
monkey face
dumpling


In sunny Weihai
we visited
 the zoo.
A famous zoo
one of
 the largest
in China.

Built in the side
of a mountain
5kilometers high
Divisions 

of animals                                                                      

Roaming
below.
White tigers
Hyenas
Black leopards
Hungry steady gazing eyes.
Little chicken coops
dotting the walkways

“Would you like to feed the tigers?” my companions said
as the zoo keeper offered me a chicken
“No thank you. I think I would like to see the pandas,” I said.
“They are on the other side.”

Up up up
I trudged
Dizzy with vertigo



Finally
 the top
of the mountain.
Only to
have to                                        
pass through
the monkey cage
To get to
the pandas

“Oh,I’m not sure I can do this”I said.
“There is no other way,no exit”, my companion. said.”It’s ok.”

The zookeeper
slid
the rusty bolt
that
squeaked
the cage
 open.
                                                                        

As we entered
the zookeeper
slid
the rusty bolt
that
squeaked
the cage
shut.

A cage
inside
 the cage
was labeled
 “Monkey’s Prison”

Several
red bottomed monkeys
sat
looking
unblinking
scoping us out.


I had seen
red bottomed monkeys
walking
the tangle of high wires
above the streets
of Old Delhi
Parading
in the gardens
of The Baby Taj.
Angry and glaring
behind the bars
of the zoo
in Philadelphia


Here
 the red bottomed monkeys
roamed
freely .

Suddenly
one of the monkeys
sprung
and grabbed
at my satchel
Before I could
shriek
Another
monkey
flew
And in a
one single
swoop
in mid flight
That evil flying monkey
 snatched
my newly gifted bracelet.


Sneaky little hoodlums ,I thought, working in a team.

I looked
over my shoulder
And the red bottomed monkey
had landed
on a boulder
 arrogantly poised
holding
in his hand
the broken yellow silk cord
of my  bracelet
that dripped
luminescent pearl beads
In the other hand
one precious bead
delicately held
positioned
to be
popped
into his mouth.

I looked down
at my wrist
Several
dotted lines
glistened
red.

The mark of
the red bottomed monkey.

A reminder
that nothing
is really ours
and
that anything
can be taken away.                               


Back in Beijing
The “monkey incident”
as faint a memory
as the healing scrapes
on my wrist
A new bracelet
to replace
the stolen one
I noticed
the marker
 in the car park.

The red bottomed monkey.

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