In Memoriam

The boy has left, forever gone.
I watch his monkey sit and mourn.
It licks it’s bloodied balls and sighs
And then tries on some shoes and ties
The boy left him. It combs it’s hair
(whatever’s left), then plays an air
Upon the big, brass, shiny flute
The boy once used to play.

The monkey plays a tune I knew
When creatures of it’s kind were few.
It stops, it looks at me, it winks,
It pours itself some wine and drinks.
The monkey smooths the pinned-on tail
The boy once got him at a sale.
And troubled, kicks away the flute
The boy once used to play.

Remember the day I brought a watermelon? I bought it from the little old lady outside your house. When you saw it you said, Ooh hep, watermelon. And we cut it and we ate it. And I was happy because you were happy.

Remember that time we were standing in the kitchen? I was making lemon tea. You were behind me. You held me by the waist, arms wrapped tightly around me. It’s unlucky to let go, you said. And I was happy because you were happy.

You cut yourself a slice of watermelon. While I cut mine into squares and ate it with a fork. It’s no fun eating it with a fork, you said. You have to dig in with your teeth and get melon all over your face, you said. You slurped it noisily and rubbed the rind all over your face. You laughed at my expression and slurped some more. And I was happy, because you were.

You followed me around the kitchen, your arms never leaving my waist. From stove to sink and back again. It made me laugh and try to wriggle free. It’s unlucky, you insisted, mustn’t let go. Your beard tickling my neck. Your breath on my ear. And I was happy, because you were.

I also brought lemons to make sherbet. Do you have salt and sugar? Yes, you said, the only condiments I have. I took them down from the shelf, and then your cousin came calling. With his fiancé. Perhaps that day you were not happy after all.

Perhaps you never were happy.

And after some weeks, as the days began to grow longer, and the nights, warm and dry, they began to complain. And they began to curse the one who had rescued them and brought them out of captivity. Why did you bring us out of that place? they said. Would you had left us there. We would have been better off. We would have had meat to eat and wine to drink. We would have had perfumes to smell and oils to bathe with. We would have washed another’s dirty linen and kissed the dust from his sandals. We would have borne whiplash upon whiplash in mute surrender. We would have given love, and received none in return. We would have made lesions on our chests, cut open our ribs and brought forth our hearts, torn and bleeding. We would have placed these at their feet. To preserve in formaldehyde, or be kicked into a corner in irritation. We would have cut off our hair and wiped their feet with it. We would have torn the clothes off our backs and laid them out for them to walk on. Take us back, for that is where we want to be.

The fat man across the hall has sleep apnea. He also has body odour, mild dementia and a cat named Penile Tumescence. Last week the fat man asked me to marry him. We were standing outside Yesesi Supermarket. He was carrying peanut chikky, razor blades and Penile Tumescence in a white plastic bag. The fat man looked like he hadn't washed for months. The plastic bag looked as if it might burst any minute. I was tempted to refuse but told him I'd think about it.

When I got home I found an anonymous love note and peanut chikky in a purplish-grey envelope that had been sealed with something that smelled a lot like stale mustard and saliva.

Somebody rang the bell at 3am. The fat man was standing in the hallway with Penile Tumescence under his arm. His t-shirt read “I am the Lizard King, I can do anything”.