Monkey

Back at me smiles Monkey
With that toothless, goofy grin.
Between finger and thumb I hold and contemplate
His cockeyed expression;
His winged ears;
His top hat a-tilt.
Whilst other rubbers served their purpose,
Nay, even their duty,
Monkey never was erased.
He was never shredded on the paper for my errors.
Clay-baked coloured Monkey escaped
The demands of exactitude;
The stipulation of faultlessness;
The pressing of precision.
Instead, Monkey’s teapot-handled arm
Continued to calmly scratch that invisible itch.
He is an observer of my mistakes
But has always been insistent that my inaccuracies be forgiven.
Well, Monkey would declare them as ‘boo-boos’
Since he is, well, a rubber Monkey rubber.