You return home to find your husband
has been replaced by a capering monkey.
It immediately takes your hat
and leaves a warm tortilla in its place.
Later you discover the monkey upstairs,
brachiating across the timbered ceiling
with a look of manic glee, chirruping
the way chaffinches used to at your window
before they were replaced by the cat
with the notch missing from its nose.
You swap your tea for scotch and water
and the water for more scotch.
Your hat looks good on the monkey.
Sort of regal.