I saw his eyes but did not tremble.
The tongue flicker was one I practiced for years
until every woman said I got it right and turned into me.
Or perhaps they turned on me to dissipate the male
and light their privates at both ends. But this is only
to unmitigate no circumstance—I admit to flinching
when his brown-green tattooed-phallus stretched so rigid
I named him Rigor Mortis, blushed, then tried to laugh.
The way he coiled the ficus and rubbed his body length
made me blanch. I hated the way he implied—Don’t try
this at home. Then he holed-up somewhere to enrage me.
I turned to spy a spider monkey wrench sperm
from his full-extension, slap it in his mouth, spit
at a young woman holding her boyfriend’s hand. She
noted a direct hit on her pretty blue dress, laughed
like a child when the hairy one beat his chest,
screeched down the sky. The young man’s eyes
told me we had both been screwed, put behind bars
by old snake eyes and primate glands. Mercifully the zoo
was to close in an hour. There was only time to visit
the peacocks and the llamas and the wily coyotes.
You must know what monkey saw and monkey said.
You must know what I’m doing in my monkey do way.