Kick

They say that if you give a monkey a banana, you have gained a friend for life. That's what they say. The vast compendium of they has never been introduced to my monkey. I've given him everything and he still hates my guts with a singular passion. He extends me the wonderful courtesy of bruising my flesh in places where clothing will drape over in the day so he may press them soar with impunity at night. He does not play amusingly with a pair of cymbals, nor does he ride a tricycle. No flips, cigar smoke, oversized sunglasses, or funny dances. He just sits in a corner and makes me perform from a veritable checklist of things I have sworn off in the maturation of years. The damn thing is never happy. Monkeys are supposed te be most expressive of all creatures in the animal kingdom. Yet I have the great displeasure of being discovered by an intemperate baboon who can synchronize every facial muscle into a tapestry of perfect stillness. He has no name. It's just as well seeing that I never invoked him. It just showed up one day in the midst of my pain and confusion. He bites me whether I am well behaved or contemptuous throwing my reward system into hysterics. In the full sight of sprawling trees it will not brachiate. A hateful and unnatural monkey refuses the joys of play. He only understands a kind of psychic extraction that has no payload. If this were a robbery I would not know what precious substance to surrender. There is no appeasement of this dumb simian. It wants nothing, but demands it on time. I am touched by the stupidity of its aimless violence without recourse. Against my better judgement I find myself studying that monstrosity with a tail. There is something faintly comprehensible about its darkness. Oh dear, I think it wants to trade places.