They stared down that fruit
ravenously as junkies
seeking their next fix.
Days they spent
cleverly concealed
high in the banyan boughs
by the jungle home.
Monkey spies peered longingly,
slavering over the scrumptious cornucopia
of fruity delight,
so close.
They watched the white man
devour whole pigs three times
daily. When he ate
he feasted.

This gluttonous absurdity shall last no longer,
claimed the monkey chieftain.
Clang clang, rang the war bells,
and primate warriors gathered,
plotting a master plan,
the "Fruit Bowl Coup."
Gangsters conniving their next hit,
the monkeys schemed day and night.
The fruit shall be ours at last!

The white man's snores rumbled
after lunch. He dazed
in a satiated stupor.
With vine ropes and a leafy gag,
the monkeys stormed in.
A score tied him down,
muffled his pitiful squeaks.
The rest raided,
took siege over the kitchen,
plundering pirates.
They filled their cheeks
and hands with fruit,
then brought their *****
back to the tribe.
They feasted for days
and the white man cried.