poetryjournal

I kind of liked how I left this scene last night. (I wasn’t drinking wine at 10am).

Decent cabernet too.

     One hot summer day when they had gone to the Park they watched a small monkey which had escaped from its owner and was up in a tall elm tree. Its little black face in a crown of gray fluff peered out of the green leaves, then was gone and a branch rustled and shook several feet higher. In vain did its master try to tempt it down by means of a soft whistle, a large yellow banana, a pocket mirror which he flashed and flashed.

     “It won’t come back, it’s hopeless; it will never come back,” she murmured, and burst into tears.

– “Laughter in the Dark”, Vladimir Nabokov

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