the monkey in the other room

in the other room
between bites of bananas
there is a monkey
typing. i can hear
the printer going wild
all night long.
i shut my door, annoyed
at his prolific
production. finally
i go in and look at
what he's done, what
he's written. there
are stacks of neatly
piled papers on
the floor. all of it is
worthy of shakespeare,
of updike and boyle,
of austen and hardy.
the poetry is sweet too.
full of love and mystery.
dark and light. his prose
will change the world.
i hate that monkey.