Earlier today, ‘round a quarter past two,
a monkey named Milo broke out of the zoo.
He ran through the town, with only one thought:
he had to eat out before he was caught.
He raced down the street, toward the center of town,
where the selection of food did not let him down.
Should he try Thai? Or food from Havana?
Chef Angelo’s place had a dish with bananas?!
So Milo swung in, right through the front door,
hoping to try foods he hadn’t before.
Milo tripped waiters, and knocked over chairs.
And to the Chef’s horror, he didn’t stop there.
He swung from the lights, sampling dishes with glee,
with no sign of stopping his Italian food spree.
“Great Mama Mia!” Chef Angelo cried.
“We’ve got to get that monkey outside!”
The chef lunged to the right, but Milo went left,
dodging away, leaving Chef quite bereft.
The two of them put on quite a display;
a monkey-Chef dance, a sort of ballet.
But Milo was full; it was time to go home.
Though he greatly enjoyed his first taste of Rome.
He bid Chef goodbye, and ran out the door,
already planning to come back for more.
**Send me any three (clean!) words, and I'll create a poem, short story or snippet with your words!**
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