The Lemur

I walked around for six months with a lemur on my femur
and it professed to me it’s job was as a hotel cleaner, 
and I must admit I was confused, to me it didn’t seem a 
lemur on my femur could ever be a cleaner. 
But I was a dreamer, so the lemur on my femur 
I agreed must be a cleaner, and I must surely deem a 
cleaner lemur on my femur to be a great poetic theme, a 
truly silly poem that would match the lemur’s demeanour.  

Now the cleaner lemur on my femur was adept at hopping 
and hopping never stopping it set it off to do my shopping. 
To his iPod bobbing, to the latest hits chart topping 
the cleaner lemur on my femur set off to do my shopping.
But clumsy was the lemur so my bags he kept on dropping
and the whopping mass of products in their packaging were popping
and soaked with sweat and sopping, the lemur stopping hopping 
and his gait took on a dejected form, a-limping and a-lopping. 
And thus it was with sadness the the lemur needed chopping. 

So the cleaner lemur on my femur was, quite rightly sacked
and the clothes he had unpacked were duly restacked and repacked. 
But the lemur, I, he tracked until my rota he could enact and
catching me quite unawares, I was, in fact, attacked. 
The lemur smacked and whacked upon my intestinal tract 
and trying to escape I found my feet, they had been tacked
unto the floor in measures merely to distract, 
as the cleaner lemur, from my femur, my computer hacked! 
I feared my attention slacked, this plot I’d failed to react 
with sufficient haste to prevent my life being ransacked. 
My identity he cracked and took it as his own, in fact, 
as business in my name the lemur began to transact. 
Now he, the cleaner lemur, my curse, my anathema
was I, the human dreamer and I
The cleaner lemur who did dwell upon my femur.