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Final Solution

The Monster Monkey Mother
Reared from birth in a vertical isolation
Chamber of stainless 
Steel until her impregnation by
				artificial
Insemination
On the "Rape Rack" in Bldg 102
Knows nonetheless what it means to be well
And truly
			screwed

And while her creators Harlow and Suomi
Look on from behind
Their wall of one-way glass
Scribbling hypotheses for what they hope will
					come to pass
This one
Simply does what she feels:
takes her mewling infant 
By the heels
And slams its face to the floor
				rubbing it back
And forth
Methodically in the blood and gore
Like a chain-gang trustee pushing a broom
Until finally she grows 
Restless and bored and tosses the useless little thing
			across the room.

To their critics, Harlow and Suomi will argue they have tried
To do something good, striving
Through their experiments to find a new treatment
For the psychologically
				disturbed
(Something on the order of "Greater Love Hath No Rhesus")
But the Monster
Monkey Mother knows better than they
			(experience being the best teacher)
That such research
Has a way of becoming as mysterious and elusive
As the disease itself, which may

					explain
In part, why there are no studies of this sort currently  being
Conducted behind the one-way
Glass encircling heaven
				where God, in His
Infinite Wisdom, hath declared a moratorium on Literature, Science,
And other various and sundry forms 
Of deception (including The Imma-
				culate Conception)
Which cause His precious doves to rise up in despair and beat 
At one another in the still air 
Like a gaggle of unruly geese: He having decided, that is, with
							no experimentation 
At all, that your God, no less than the least of you, 
Is deserving
Of a refuge where He doesn't forever 
have to be thinking
About all the goddamn merciful things
He has yet to do
						in the name of love

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