Author: wd

i cant guarantee im always around, but when i am, consequences will never be the same.

short swings

A one-act play for mature audiences.

“Two people confront one-another about their feelings, at the wrong place, at the wrong time, in the wrong way – and possibly, to the wrong person.”

THE SCENE
A party in a suburban home. Nighttime.

THE CAST
Kristan, she/her, 30s, standoffish, with coloured hair.
Kevin, he/him, 30s, brazen.

Graeme, 30s, a smoking guest.
Tommy, 30s, his friend.
A Man in a Suit, 30s, a silent weirdo.

Karl, a drunk partygoer, adult-aged.
Holly, a curious partygoer, adult-aged.
A Goof, 30s, an idiot.

*

As the audience enters the theatre, the CURTAIN is CLOSED and the HOUSE LIGHTS are ON. In front of the curtain at STAGE-LEFT, under a spotlight, is a patio chair and an outdoor table with an ashtray on it. On STAGE-RIGHT, on a bench, sits A MAN IN A SUIT – looking forlorn, “smoking” a cigarette, ashing on the ground. Behind the curtain, you can hear bass-heavy background music, played at a minimal volume.

Five-minutes before the start of show, GRAEME enters STAGE-LEFT. He “lights” a cigarette and stares out into the crowd like he’s looking-out from a porch. Occasionally, GRAEME will look at the MAN IN A SUIT, but the MAN IN A SUIT does not look back, nor do they share any pleasantries.

HOUSE LIGHTS FADE. TOMMY enters STAGE-LEFT, also “lighting” a cigarette.

TOMMY
Hey Graeme!

GRAEME
Tommy! What’s shaking?

TOMMY & GRAEME “pound” fists.

TOMMY
Not a whole Hell of a lot. I thought I’d never run into someone I know here.

GRAEME
Yeah, me neither. The wife dragged me. But it’s nice to see you!

TOMMY
You too! Are you coming with us next weekend?

GRAEME
To do what?

TOMMY
The guys didn’t tell you?

GRAEME
No…

TOMMY
Oh. Well we’re all going hunting.

GRAEME
(apprehensive) Hunting, huh?

TOMMY
Yeah. Don’t take it too personal. If anyone asks just say I invited you.

GRAEME
No, it’s not that. I’m just not sure how comfortable I’d be with going hunting.

TOMMY
If you’re sad for the deer, it’s an annual cull.

GRAEME
Yeah, there’s that. But it’s mostly just all the random shootings going on everywhere. I don’t know how cool I am going shooting for fun when kids are getting killed for no reason.

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die you damned bastard fly!

A poem.

i locked a fly inside my safe
to see if it could survive,
and two weeks later to my surprise
the fly still hadn’t died.

its incarceration wasn’t intentional,
of that i assure you –
i won’t pressure you with a confession of animal abusion –
but it just flew in there, that dumbass diptera
and, putting all semblance of a conscience aside,
from the moment i saw it hovering over the dirty dish brine
i cursed its damned bastard behind!
with wings that fly fast as it buzzes past
and irritates my fragile mind,
and a dirty sucky straw-hole for a mouth that eats garbage
for the supposed duration of its ironic adult life.

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silly boys

A poem.

ready to use
be used and abused in return –
yes just like the Eurythmics sung –
ready to run,
like the Energizer bunny pre-Pandemic before he looked so spun,
finally and without any more ado,
here come the silly boys through the exit postern
looking like idiots and
still trying to have fun.

guess who just got back today!
and they would’ve been back earlier if their plane weren’t delayed
by silly boys and silly men
playing the grown-ups on a downward trend

and the laughter they receive is the attention they seek
because without it they’re doomed to be seen
as prosaic & weak, allegedly,
blowing their vape cloud toward a future that’s bleak
like they’re already willing to die at 16,
living tracks by old idols like Biggie and Mobb Deep
because that’s so super retro, you see,
and you never saw Tupac in any ads for acne cream

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Posted on by wd 0