We bought an electric monkey, experimenting rather 
recklessly with funds carefully gathered since 
grandfather's time for the purchase of a steam monkey. 

We had either, by this time, the choice of an electric 
or gas monkey. 

The steam monkey is no longer being made, said the monkey 
merchant. 

But the family always planned on a steam monkey. 

Well, said the monkey merchant, just as the wind-up monkey 
gave way to the steam monkey, the steam monkey has given way 
to the gas and electric monkeys. 

Is that like the grandfather clock being replaced by the 
grandchild clock? 

Sort of, said the monkey merchant. 

So we bought the electric monkey, and plugged its umbilical 
cord into the wall. 

The smoke coming out of its fur told us something was wrong. 

We had electrocuted the family monkey.

Poet: Russell Edson
Poem: The Family Monkey

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