Poem: one new year's eve
a mate of mine, - not a mate anymore - used to carry with him a card; picture of a monkey swinging from a tree… well, chimpanzee, but we all call them monkeys when we’re telling the stories…
he’d laugh when we’d ask why he carried that card.
told us we’d never know when it might come in handy.
we all went along with it - “he’s mad”, we’d say, laughing - li…
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