THREE MONKEYS

You three monkeys, sitting in the Vicar’s office…

                          See all evil,

                                  Speak all evil,

                                              Hear all evil

One of you bunched up in a corner, the Google snooper,

Dressed like he’d just come in from chores,

Looking as if he’d rather be anywhere but here,

But his wife has been after him to do this for years,

And if I were married to a harridan like her

I would meekly obey, whether I wanted to or not.

One of you, a Lady who Lunches,

Natty in your Talbot’s best, visibly shaking

In your well made-up mask. Is it anger, or fear?

You know your late husband is probably

Spinning in his grave. There is no way

He would have ever countenanced this silly charade.

He knew men and events, and how

To deal with them. You don’t know, you don’t even suspect.

You’ve spent too much time in front of the mirror

To know anything but your cramped up fears,

And how to do what you are told, Madame Boss.

Aah, and you, the third monkey

Sitting there like the cat that ate the cream,

Dressed in your spring suit, with your hair slicked back

And your wispy beard looking for all the world

Like a two bit, disgraced tent meeting evangelist.

None of you, on this day, speak, save for you Madame,

Who weakly accuse me of not having “permission” to

Gather information. Nobody told me I needed to ask, not that

I suspect either of your fellow monkeys would ask “May I?”

Hell, it was only about goings-on for a damned newsletter!

What’s the problem? That somebody showed initiative for once?

No, you left the talking to the Man in Brown. Suave, unctuous,

So worldly for a man of God, a lover of frills and frippery.

There was a problem, and it was all my fault, it always is…

Not about the newsletter, but something done and paid for

At least a generation gone; nothing to do with anyone here.

And so “We think it would be best….” I am not told to leave

But you’d have to be blind, deaf and dumb to miss the inference.

I’m out the door before he finishes. No need to say goodbye.

-Chip Bergeron, May 17, 2010