Creative Writing

The Monkey

Two men and a


sat between them, blinking up

but never making noise,

both there and not there,

never seen (by others) until it leaps out

screeching when their hands or their lips touch

screeching when they cross each street corner

screeching in every public night

screeching when a row of men saunter, ten beers down,

count lost to all but the bank

guffawing with idle glee at any and all difference

to pin down and remove, like a dog against a limp foot.

Two men (and a monkey

locked up in sheets, roped to the bed

with shoelaces and gagged

with a used sock, stiff, dry, wrapped

around its ears, teeth stuffed with fibres

but safe)

safe, friends, close but never too close,

sharing a smile and a vodka coke,

hands pressed on their own knees hearing the

screeching of other monkeys

celebrating their freedom as two men

sit under a pub table dipping fists in alcohol

and licking it like a wound.


About Author


Oliver Shrouder