Like a Monkey

Author’s Note: I’d like to state, for the record, that it’s not actually true that only primates use tools. That’s just something I recall hearing a long time ago.

I recline on my bed with my feet in the air,

My pants are short, my feet are bare,

My legs are covered with long coarse hair,

But, on my feet, it’s scarcely there,

And I think to myself:

“I look like a monkey.”

When I sit in a chair, my posture is poor,

As I get to my feet, my back will be sore,

My arms rest on my legs and my shoulders are slouched,

My body takes stress from the time I spend crouched,

I look to my side and I see my reflection;

My bent back, hung arms, and head’s forward projection,

And I think to myself:

“I look like a monkey.”

At the dinner table, precaution demands

That I avoid touching my food with my hands.

I have a personal preoccupation

With minimizing germ-inoculation,

So I rely heavily on spoons, forks, and knives,

Though, I’ve heard only primates use tools in their lives,

And I think to myself:

“I act like a monkey.”

And, similarly, when things fall on the floor,

I don’t want to touch them with my hands anymore.

So I use my feet as a second set of hands,

To remove what I’ve dropped from the place where it lands,

And I think to myself:

“I act like a monkey.”