Another piece from the Postmodernism course I took in college — this is a play-poem. The idea was to use a format that is reminiscent of how a play is structure; two characters, having a sort of dialogue, but still relying on the conventions of Postmodernism that we had come to know. Whether reading these lines as dialogue alone, or in the order they are written, the form has as much to do with the meaning (or lack of it) as the content.
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dust
Drinking, screwdriver, film, fever. We do not care for any, pleasant pasture, the walls are screaming sentences built for batteries. It is positively much too hot out.
I do not believe we’ve met. My name is unimportant, but I am an acquaintance of an acquaintance. Surely you knew I might be coming by? Conversation only, my dear, I assure you.
Oh, no. William never speaks before breakfast and in fact, the mail was quite late on Sunday. Was the screen door always laced with contempt for the living room? I want you to consider the wolves.
The post does not come on Sundays. And I do often consider the wolves – that is, they are quite common around here and I am afraid my wife is rather worried about our poor Cocker Spaniel. Just wait for the summertime.
Do you know what is not too far from here? Mozart was shredding sheet music as a dowry, and before you knew what color paper bleeds, there was Jane Austen tapping politely in her favorite pair of inky-slippers.
I would like to hear more about that. I am afraid I may have missed your point. Please sit down, however – you seem to be getting quite flushed. Can I get you a bit of water?
That isn’t true. They were honeymooning, dear. They were Lance Rumford of Newport, and his scented statue, the former Cynthia Landry who had once tied herself to the back of a train and ran sideways until she sputtered away into a great big dust bowl. Would you like a spoon?
No, thank you… I am quite fine. May I use your telephone, and please sit, you are making such a fuss!
Night has fully come. I’ll get you that glass of things, Walter. Garbled and chewed, like – cooper wires, twisting foil, just the way you take it. Shh! Did you hear that? Ruby rebels in the round home.
I believe I did, and I brought the baking soda, misses, like you asked. Now fetch me that cellophane – there are shocking matters at play and I think the media ought to be warned. Ruby rebels, indeed.