I had been a bachelor for several years

and the thought of living with a woman was beyond me.

I took pleasure in my lack of domestication, knowing

it could never be that way

while living with a woman.

There were beer bottles on the counter

a plate of cheese

in the fridge

and fresh peaches

molding on the cutting board

where I got my vitamin c.

I had tried to find a suitable wife

more than once

but there were no women I wanted to try-on

(This sounds like I’m a serial killer, but I’m not—so you can breathe easy.)

Saying these things in public, however, is probably why I’m single.

Anyway,

the roommates I considered

were all out.

I could tell they were meticulous and had spiritual problems

a clean apartment, is a sure sign, a male has their priorities backwards.

Now, if it’s a female with a messy house, she likely has mental problems

but it’s a natural state for a man.

I do my best writing, when I don’t give any thought to cleaning

and the more trash that piles up, the more brilliant I am.

There were a few women that wanted to be roommates with me—

and they kept coming over, and telling me I was handsome,

but I didn’t fall for their trap

and then they called me gay.

Anyway, I needed a roommate, and I couldn’t find one

So, I moved next to the zoo, where it was cheap.

Nobody wanted to live there because the pea-cocks screamed

for, you know…

at 3:30 in the morning.

I wore earplugs, and got the flat, next to the monkey habitat.

I became friends with the zookeeper (although, I think they’re called something else)

He picked-up shit for a living

it’s a secure job because nobody else wants to do it.

“I’ve got this neurotic monkey. He cleans all the time, and he’s getting picked on by the other monkeys. His primary job is cleaning fleas off their butts. It’s humiliating to watch because he reminds me of me. Will you be his friend? —take him for walks? —I hear you could use a roommate? He’s smart for a monkey. He’ll clean your place, spick and span.”

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll give him a try.”

There was no threat from a monkey. I could always put him back, behind bars, if the relationship didn’t work out. I thought about the various ways I had beaten the system, up until the present moment. Now I had a monkey.

It’s the good life that most men never discover.

I play golf 5 days a week

and watch documentaries on how to write the great American novel.

Most men get good at one thing,

and then they get married.

Marriage provides meaning, that the one thing, could never provide,

but several things increase the love, and that meaning, can transcend marriage.

Society will never tell men that.

The monkey and I got acquainted.

I reward him with cigars, and we drink scotch, late into the evenings.

I haven’t made a determination on the spiritual sickness of my monkey, just yet

but he knows his place, and I know mine.

So, he’s the perfect roommate.