Survival

“Can’t you read?” snapped the monkey.  It waved

a threatening baton over the yellow tape; I stepped back

in surprise.  “It says, police line, do not

cross,” the monkey said.  “This means

you.”  “Who put you in charge?” I snapped

back.  No simian with a badge makes

a monkey out of me.  “Evolution is running

backwards,” it said.  “Darwin died and made me

god.”  “Not mine,” I answered.  “What’s the crime here?”

“Building a better mousetrap, with malice

aforethought.”  It raised a paw, pushed

the uniform cap back and scratched

its head.  “What do you know

about this?”  “Nothing,” I said.  “I never

fore thought in my life.”  “None of you

did.  That’s the crime.”  “You’re contradicting

yourself,” I pointed out smugly.  “That’s my

prerogative,” it answered, “now you move

on, there’s nothing to see here.”  “I want

to see the mousetrap.”  “You can’t, it’s been

impounded, expounded, and re-

pounded.  Also classified, eyes only.”  “Whose eyes?”

I asked.  It answered, “That’s 

the question, isn’t it?” 

Liz Huck