On The Other Hand He Calls It The Thousand Monkeys

on the thousandth
monkey
you shout
o my god
i made it!

the monkey
hangs and shifts
place from
vine to vine

jumps on the river
and swims
finds a fish
and eats it
rises from the river
and dances on
a rock
under the morning
sun

quite exciting
the other monkeys
did the same

except for one
he sits by the window
watches the running of
time
dust after dust
dusk after dusk
waiting for
the big break of
his own life.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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