The toy monkey
counted as the boy wound it up.
Some toys bond with child captors.
Not this Monkey.
This’d be the last time
it’d be in sticky hands.
115 twists.
Enough twists to galumph to freedom.
Retire from this horrible vocation.
The boy aimed the toy
to shuffle across the room.
It did, at first.
However, last minute,
it swerved through the open door,
barrelled down the hall,
and slid under the couch.
With its spare twists, it disguised itself in dust.
The boy never found it.
There it remains to this day.