Paint by Number
Uncle Son taught us how the number 5,
drawn with cap and smile becomes a monkey.
Ruth dressed like an old man, stood in the shade,
scared my cousins from their lemonade stand.
They joked but never talked about the old days.
Their singing mother died when they were young.
I wished for a Grandma when I was young,
rode a limo to Grandpa’s grave at five,
they still opened the casket in those days.
Dad was wearing the suit of a monkey.
Sisters sat under the green fabric shade.
All the men and slicked-up, boys had to stand.
We built dirt forts under the New Deal shade,
I found the ring Ruth lost when she was young.
Cowboys and Injuns, was “Custard’s” last stand.
We chanted engine, engine number 9,
promised to be uncle of a monkey.
School days, school days, good old Golden Rule days,
turned teenage years into Vietnam daze.
Pretending to understand Whiter, Shade
Of Pale, secretly liking the Monkees.
Teach Your Children Well Crosby, Stills Nash & Young
words to save Michael from the Jackson Five,
but he danced on American Bandstand.
After college- much less to understand,
afraid of losing we saved up vacation days,
while under-achievers worked nine to five.
Weekends we read the Times under Cinzano shade,
drinking Starbuck’s thinking we were still young.
Why feel guilt? We evolved from a monkey.
New diseases were blamed on a monkey,
and the money Towers that didn’t stand.
Finally we read the Red Book of Jung,
homeless held signs proclaiming the Last Days.
Some Madoff with profits; Wall Street was shady.
Nothing left to collect at sixty-five.
Grinning like a sock monkey a candidate promises better days.
But, how much can the earth stand under the ozone shade?
Coaxing our young to leave the nest, we watch the news at five.
