The day filters through the fog or sand
Becomes something new, or repeated demand
The most apt metaphor for the vehicle of life
Is a mad monkey astride an elephant’s gray knife
Whipping frantically with it furry brown arms
Screaming with primal demand; the elephant’s charms
Are run ragged, it is confused, the monkey is confused;
They cannot communicate except through the commander’s
Shrill orders and the slaves mute, sullen compliance.
As the pachodyrm becomes lost and veers through a
Tall field towards the tree-lined river, the monkey beating
And beating but to no avail, they plunge into the river
The little dictator is thrown by the rapids and drowned
But the elephants long trunk and solid legs keep it breathing
Until it reaches the other side and runs into the jungle, free.