To celebrate the end of winter, the possibility of love and our enthusiasm for all things monkey-related, here’s one from the archives. Romance is never easy but it’s always more fun — when personified by a roomful of monkeys!
Nine glasses of beaujolais. Two strangers are moving in together. Seven months at one address. Both of us feel things are getting better.
You told yourself that you would go before the mailbox filled with snow if our hearts remained in separate rooms. My deadline was the maple tree. The first red flag and I would leave if our words still raised the leaking roof.
Monkeys and typewriters – We locked ourselves into the bridal suite; Now twenty fingers tap on unknown keys. One day you and I will write our masterpiece.
Christmas was a real event. The tree fell down and we got bent together. New Year’s saw us take a vow. We’d part as friends then try again whenever.
I moved into a bachelor flat. You stayed with friends and babysat. My heart ached like an unmailed valentine. On St. Patrick’s Day, we faced each other at a reading by your brother. Once again our stories intertwined.
Hindus, Moslems and the Jews. The Capulets and the Montagues. God knows we’re in good company. We tear down walls and put up fences. Can’t we make love and still make sense? We start in bed and end in tragedy.