theatre (11)

an episodically published poem
link to beginning

Late again
I can’t believe it: he’s late again
everybody’s here, even
the kid
who’s usually
out in the alley
dragging on a joint
like it’s a cure for reality
the kid is actually
looking at the script
as if he understands it
but the poor dear boy
is more than I can say

more than I can say
fucking playwright
wouldn’t know decent dialogue
if it fell out of the sky from God
words that let my voice ring out
last time I had a decent bit
of dialogue was that piece
with Bernice
where the hell is Bernice
since her looks went
she hasn’t been able to land a role
as a character bit
let alone the ingenue
she still wants to play
such a fucking flake

And here’s his precious majesty
whoops he’s not here yet
off to the can for a wizz
— for a wizz!
who cares why he’s leaving
he should just leave
and do what he has to
but everything is a production with that one
oh, yes, a production
he probably has a trumpeter retained to
play a fanfare when he slides the pathetic
little slug out of its zippered cage
How many ladies of the
cast have adored the little worm?
Let this act make a bird of you!
Fly, bird! Fly!
Or better still, how many men
have mouthed homage to that
limp plough
Where is his majesty?
sitting on the throne,
having a wizz.
Sitting, if you please
Stand, and wizz like a man!
Spray forth yon golden stream —
I’ll wizz him
into his precious thermos
when nobody’s looking
and then I’ll laugh
And when he finally arrives,
finally ready with the golden pipes
all tuned and poised to
charm us with his melifluous tones
he’ll digress for half an hour with
gay tales of the hell his hag bitch
of a mother is putting him through
as if we cared about
her bowel movements
and her night sweats and
her interminable coughing
up green bile
or whatever it is
people dying of whatever it is do
plough her under that foul ditch
of a back yard you had us down to
for your precious thank you party
and get on with the fucking play!

Oh, Bernice, dear: there you are
how’s my favourite beautiful woman?
You look lovely today
Could you please, darling, get me a coffee?
you know me: double sugar, double cream
for an old sweety.

What’s that?
Act 2 Scene 1?
Of course, but I thought
we were going to do Act 1 Scene 1.
Oh, he does?
Of course, anything to oblige
the poor dear boy
he has a poor sick mother to support
so we must all pitch in.

(Visited 21 times, 1 visits today)
FavoriteLoadingAdd to favorites

About riverwriter

Poet, playwright, duplicate bridge player, website designer, cottager, husband, father, grandfather, former athlete, carpenter, computer helper for my friends, theatre designer, backstage polymath, retired teacher of highschool English, drama, art, a baritone singer in a barbershop quartet, who knows what else? wordcurrents is on Facebook: Doug also has a Facebook page, "Incognitio", related to his novels.
This entry was posted in Creative writing, dramatic monologues, Poetry, serial. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *