The Monkeys and Mr McDee

I really should warn you, before I begin

This story won’t fill you with glee.

It’s a tale of depravity, horror and sin,

Called:

‘The Monkeys And Mr McDee’

by Joe Craig

Just round the corner, behind the estate

There’s a building most people ignore.

There’s only one human who goes there, but, wait,

There are Monkeys – ten thousand or more.

Or rather, there used to be, up to last night,

When the monkeys said they’d had enough.

It took courage, but they weren’t afraid of a fight,

Because one little monkey was tough.

For years the poor monkeys had toiled like slaves,

At levers, at pulleys and pistons.

But sometimes their friends disappeared – without graves,

While the rest were too scared to ask questions.

Then one little monkey, the smallest of all,

Grew tired from working all day.

So he sat in the corner and took out a ball,

And casually started to play.

Suddenly there was a crash, then a creak,

And the monkey jumped up from the floor.

His teeth were a-chatter, his knees had gone weak.

He was standing above a trapdoor.

This monkey was tired, but he was alert,

As the floor where he stood slid away.

He was so small he skipped off it, unhurt,

With an elegant paso doblé.

(That’s a dance, by the way, I suppose I should say.

It’s stylish but funky when danced by a monkey,

Whose knees bend in just the right way.)

A moment too late he remembered his ball.

He watched as it rolled down the hole.

The monkey was shocked when he saw his toy fall

Between jaws, which swallowed it whole.

A crocodile lived under the factory.

There it was: sharp-toothed. Mean. Underfed.

Everyone there was a crocodile-snack-to-be.

The thought filled the monkey with dread.

Then, with a rumble as big as the first,

The trapdoor slid back into place.

In all his short life, this day was his worst,