It was a party like no other,
a one man show, ‘Red Peter’
custom-built from a Kafka
tour-de-force, with cage, bananas, music.
All about a captured monkey transforming
to a music hall performer
mimicking humans, aping, with a
glimpse of human history, of our animal nature.
Way-too-close for comfort, reaching into
mucus, excrement, hair and fleas,
primate torture, tension, change, adaption:
the very smell of ‘human’.
I guess quite close to monkey business
and, though the guests applauded loudly,
they muttered ‘Not right for a party!’,
‘Quite unsuitable when you’re sober!’
but Kafka turned and looked steadfast
into a mirror, reckoned to attack
his beard, his tresses, neck, by shaving
here and there, down there, out there and back.