October 20, 2016
I gifted you this birthday monkey.
I found it while buying grape jelly.
It’s small, like me, and blue, like you
And sings when you press its belly.
You danced when you heard birthday
monkey sing
And laughed when I danced too.
“Why on Earth did you get this for me?’’
You asked. I replied, “I have no clue.”
I gifted you this birthday monkey.
I really don’t think you cared.
You pretended to, because it was me,
But now, I think you were just scared.

December 1, 2016
You gave me back the birthday monkey.
I can’t say why that hurt the most.
It’s blue, like me, and new, like you?
“Did you even like it?” You said, “Almost.”
You flinched when you heard birthday
monkey sing
And flinched when I cried, too.
“What can I do to fix this?’’ I begged.
You said, “There’s nothing to do.”
You gave me back the birthday monkey.
I’m sorry I ever bought it.
But for now, it’s displayed in my bedroom
Because it won’t forget you, though you forgot it.