My butterfly brooch had red jewels for eyes
It was white with black edges and at the back it was shiny gold.
It had a special little clip to push through my coat
It sat on my chest like a medal.
It was my most treasured possession.
We took our cousins to the zoo
They were from England and had bright white sox.
They were scared of the monkeys and held their mother’s hand
Us rough little colonial kids all leaned over the rail
and threw peanuts in their shells to the monkeys.
They grabbed them and crunched them in their sharp little teeth.
I saw a monkey with something shiny clutched to his chest
Holding it while he swung wildly with the other sinewy arm
He put it in his mouth and gnawed
He was trying to eat it.
It was my butterfly brooch.
The horror rushed my head as the monkey swung away
Up to the high branches at the back of the cage.
Holding his treasure in his crinkly little hand.
Staring out at us, a challenge.
Even now, seven decades later, the horror is fresh
He looked right at me with his black unblinking eye.
And sat still on the highest branch.
Down by the rails, it was crime scene.