The Marmosets

Contained in their glass village,  
as whimsical as sea monkeys,  
fast as hummingbirds—  
 
flipping and swinging.  
Two dozen of them,  
two thousand miles  
 
from their shrieking jungle,  
bouncing like furry racquetballs.  
A baby clutches his mother, a curious  
 
backpack, with tiny, gleaming eyes.  
The biggest male, his fierce  
black glare nestled in a fan  
 
of whiskers, hangs in front  
of the oiled, white moon  
of your face, then exposes  
 
the pink barb of his penis.  
With a simian sneer,  
he pisses on the glass,  
 
spattering runnels  
down its filthy surface.  
I can’t help laughing  
 
that you take offense.  Piss back  
if you’ll feel better, Cowboy.  
But first, try living in a cage.  
 
 
*Note: This poem also appears in the September, 2011 issue of Negative Suck:  
http://negativesuck.moonfruit.com/#/sept-2011-archive-3/4554811390