Stuffed Monkey

I don’t want to be that crazy old lady

In the thrift shop

With the raspy voice

Buying stuffed animals

For grandchildren

She does not have.

 

“It’s On Sale”

She told me,

 

And the little stuffed monkey

Clung to her chest,

Because, he had 

Nowhere else to go.

Reviews

[Lara]

This piece seems to wink with wry humour, but mostly stands as an unadorned treatise of critical poignancy.
We are not made to ask for love or validation from stuffed monkeys, any more than we are to talk to volleyballs named Wilson. And though some feel left with little choice at the end of the day, it is ultimately a pitiable circumstance and unfulfilling prospect.
This poem, Amanda, captures the sense of dread wrapped around existential absurdity perfectly. Not one word wasted.
Very well done.

[Amanda Renee]

Thank you for your generous review!

[Davidgeo]

There is a secret western society keeps. It's a slow tragic unravelling at the end... a significant portion of the population will do this alone. That percentage is growing rapidly. There is a loneliness epidemic among even the normals now. I feel bad, crazy people are equipped to deal with this sort of thing. Neurotypicals are not. Suicide is going to be even more of a problem for the next couple generations. Of course, thats like, just my opinion man. I like your poetry.