Things have been odd round here lately;
one big, happy family we’re not
since Daddy got home from the yard sale
and showed off the statue he got:
a monkey with glowing green eyes.
He got it for practically nothing.
“Isn’t it gorgeous?” he said.
But Mom didn’t find it so charming.
So we stuck it out back, in the shed:
the monkey with glowing green eyes.
Now me and my brothers are fighting;
we argue and bicker and lie.
Mom’s moody, and Dad’s always quiet,
and I think that I’ve figured out why:
It’s the monkey with glowing green eyes.
On Wednesday I went to bed early—
put my pj’s on, got tucked in tight.
And then woke up at three in the morning
in the shed, in the cold, eerie light
of the monkey with glowing green eyes.
So on Thursday it was out with the garbage,
and we smiled as we said our good-byes.
But that night, after we’d had our supper,
just imagine our looks of surprise.
Because somehow, there it was on the mantel—
grinning down at us, wicked and wise—
the monkey with glowing green eyes.
The monkey with glowing green eyes.