Circus monkey, my old beau
it's like muffins and ovens and kitchen windows
to see you purse your lips, then stretch them
into a grin like a drunk or a Jaycee
but you don't drink, you never did.
You just rode your trike in the rain
when the circus was closed and the place was quiet
and there you'd be, like a planet in orbit in the dark.
I'd come by with my unsold tickets--
"I got a million of 'em!" like a rich widow on a spree.
My wagon was as big as loneliness, bright as poppies,
and I'd say Bobo my baby, come on in.
You'd bounce on the bed, the cutest knuckle-dragger ever,
wearing overalls and a yellow tee like a cheerful janitor.
You liked me without make-up, my clown face soaped off
and my striped dress on the floor but my socks still on.
I have been around the world, Bobo, and at night
I lie there thinking of all the dumb things I've ever done.
Everybody said, "Girl, you can't love a monkey" so I left
but now I'm back with a cardboard suitcase and a ukulele.
Can't you stop pedaling and listen? Yes I see, no hands,
they're over your ears, your eyes, your mouth--
I get the picture. I'm sorry I hurt you, Bobo, I really am.
Okay, see ya, Mr. Monkeyshines. I'm a dope,
and right after I mailed your three rings back, I knew it,
My clown car's waiting. Sure ya don't want that I should stay?
We could really knock over some milk bottles, you and me.
I know, that's for the marks. Bye, sugar pea. Ride proud.