Saturday, November 23, 2019

Vince's Secret Garden

(A theater.)

NARRATOR:  This is the story of Mary Lennox as played by a middle-aged, Italian man, and her sister, Sally Lennox, who we invented so the girl previously playing Mary would have something to do.

MARY:  Just don't stand in my light.  I need a lot of light.

SALLY:   I wish we were doing Jane Eyre so I could lock you in an attic.

NARRATOR:  Mary and Sally were born in India to British parents who loved Sally, but didn't care for Mary very much.

MARY:  Oh, like they're a picnic drinking all that tea and leaving me alone in my room with just the servants.

SALLY:  At least we have lots of toys.

MARY:  I told you before, don't touch my toys, you're going to get germs on them.

NARRATOR:  A cholera outbreak ends up killing everybody.

MARY:  See, what did I tell you?

NARRATOR:  But Mary and Sally survive.

SALLY:  Are you sure both of us survive?  Not just...one of us?

NARRATOR:  Unfortunately, both of your survive.

MARY:  It's because I use disinfectant.  You ever been to India at the turn of the 20th century?  Nobody washes their hands.  It's repulsive.

NARRATOR:  Mary and Sally are sent to live with their Uncle Archibald Craven in Yorkshire, England.

MARY:  Who is this guy?  Do I know him?

NARRATOR:  You've never met him.

MARY:  And I'm supposed to go live with him?  Did he pass a background check?

SALLY:  He's our uncle.

MARY:  Yeah, that's what they all say.

NARRATOR:  Mary is just as surly and mean as ever.

MARY:  Gee thanks, because Narrators are always the life of the party.

NARRATOR:  Mary and Sally befriend Martha the maid and Ben the gardener.

BEN:  Listen to that bird welcoming the morning.  It's going to be a shame when I eat her for lunch tomorrow.  Nice to see you again, Sally.  And, uh, hi Mary.

MARY:  Hey!  Be nice to me.  I lost my whole family to cholera.  They burned all my toys.  My rocking horse.  My dollhouse.  My wooden bathtub.

BEN:  What kind of kid has a wooden bathtub?

MARY:  What kind of person talks to birds like they're people?

SALLY:  Ben, I've heard that there's a mysterious garden our aunt used to tend to before she died.

BEN:  It's true, but nobody knows where it is.  She buried the key to it.

MARY:  Uh, correct me if I'm wrong here, but--could it possibly be hidden behind that giant wall with the door in it?  Just a hunch.

BEN:  (Sighs.)  Even if that...was where the garden is located...as I said, she buried the key.

MARY:  You people don't have battering rams?  What kind of fortress is this?

BEN:  It's not a fortress.  It's an English manor.

MARY:  Yeah, well, when the Scots invade, you people better have battering rams ready, because you're not going to be able to hide out in a secret garden if the only thing keeping it a secret are some vines in front of it.

SALLY:  The Scots aren't going to invade, Mary.

MARY:  That's what the Trojans said about the Athenians.

SALLY:  You're all mixed up.

MARY:  It's the cholera.

SALLY:  You don't have cholera.  You'd be dead if you did.

MARY:  Stop telling me what I have!

BEN:  I'll be out on the moors.

NARRATOR:  Mary and Sally also get to know Dickon.

MARY:  That can't be his name.

NARRATOR:  It is definitely his name.

MARY:  And they call this a kids book?

NARRATOR:  He is TWELVE so maybe we could just--get it together?

MARY:  Okay, sorry.  I didn't name him.

DICKON:  I'm Dickon.  I spend a lot of time on the moors.

MARY:  What are all these moors everybody's talking about?

DICKON:  They're like cliffs.

MARY:  Then just say cliff.  You're all walking around talking about moors and manors like we're playing Clue at Wuthering Heights.

DICKON:  I don't understand any of what you just said, but I hope we can be friends.

SALLY:  You're very handsome, Dickon.

MARY:  Hey, hey, hey--ease up on the Dickon talk, all right?

SALLY:  I'm just being kind to the servants.

MARY:  I know what you're up to, and you better take it down a notch before you give the whole house cholera.

SALLY:  That's now cholera works.

DICKON:  I made friends with a ladybug yesterday.

MARY:  Oh great, he talks to animals too.  Everybody here is Dr. Freakin' Doolittle.

NARRATOR:  Mary and Sally discovered the key to the secret garden and let themselves in.

MARY:  This place is a pigsty.  Weeds everywhere.  We should just burn the whole thing to the ground.

SALLY:  No, that would be awful.  Our aunt loved this place.

MARY:  Oh, now you're against burning things?  Where were you when my wooden bathtub went up in flames?

NARRATOR:  That night, Mary and Sally heard strange noises throughout the manor.

MARY:  It's probably the pipes.  I went to turn on the shower last night and it sounded like a raccoon was trying to eat its way out of a sardine can.

DICKON:  I love raccoons.  I keep one under my bed.

MARY:  Okay, new plan, Sally, no more talking to Dickon.

NARRATOR:  Mary and Sally discovered that the sound was coming from their cousin Colin who was bed-ridden with a mysterious spinal disease.

COLIN:  You two have to be my new best friends.

MARY:  The hell I do.

SALLY:  Mary--

MARY:  Who does he think he is just laying there telling me what to do.  I feel like I'm being bossed around by a homosexual gremlin.

COLIN:  I'll have you beaten for saying such a thing.

MARY:  You're a selfish beast.

COLIN:  You're a cruel temptress.

MARY:  Temptress?

SALLY:  I think he secretly likes you.

MARY:  That's perverse.  We're cousins.

SALLY:  It didn't matter back when this was written.  You actually end up marrying him.

MARY:  Again--THEY LET CHILDREN READ THIS?

NARRATOR:  Mary and Sally took Colin out to the secret garden--

MARY:  Not really a secret anymore, is it?

NARRATOR: --Where he realized that he could walk after all.

MARY:  What did I tell you?  A little faker.  Just like Grandpa Joe in Willy Wonka and the Cocoa Plant.

NARRATOR:  It's the Chocolate Factory.

MARY:  I know what I said!

NARRATOR:  Mrs. Medlock discovered the children in the garden and was so happy to see that Colin was well again.

MRS. MEDLOCK:  Sally, you've worked a miracle.  Mary, you...Well, you were here I suppose.

MARY:  Real nice, Medlock.

COLIN:  If only my father could see me like this.

MRS. MEDLOCK:  He can.  He's looking down at you from his window.

COLIN:  Father!  (Waving.)  Father, I'm well again!

MARY:  'Well' might be a stretch.  I think he's got a touch of la femme de fancy, if you know what I'm talking about.

MRS. MEDLOCK:  Sally, you can stay here as long as you like.  Mary, we're sending you to an orphanage in America.

MARY:  Sounds good to me.  Is it one of those orphanages where there's lots of singing and redheaded chicks?

MRS. MEDLOCK:  Uh, sure.

MARY:  Well, there you go.  Happy ever after.

NARRATOR:  The End

The End

Monday, November 18, 2019

The Stain on the Floor

There’s a stain on the floor
That gets cleaned up each day


Made up of spots
Light spots
Barely noticeable
Unless the light
Hits it just right


We walk over the stain
Until we get around
To wiping it away


A little soap
Some warm water
And the cloth we keep
By the sink


The stain is on the wood
Not in it
As guests sometimes remark


It’ll come up
If you scrub it just right


At first we do it in the mornings
First thing
Remove the stain
Then go about your day


After some time
When talking about the stain
And its constant reemergence
Proves boring to us
We leave it for a few hours
And take care of it
In the afternoon


Soon it stops occurring to us
To clean it up at all
And it sits there each night
Long after dinner
Erased only before bed
And eventually not even then


Why bother
Cleaning up a stain
That’ll only reappear?


Leave it where it is
A few spots
An elongated mark
Something dark
In the city
Of all that light splatter


Who cares?
Leave it there
It’s an old house
Old houses have stains
Just like the people
Who live in them


We go about our days
And our days go quickly
So much so
That we don’t notice
When the stain disappears


Did you clean it?
No, did you?
Funny
Yes, very funny


But nobody laughs


How does that something
That once persisted
Suddenly give up?


We avoid stepping on the spot
Where the stain used to be


Then we try our hardest
Not to go in the room
Where it wouldn’t be expunged


Week later, we’ve blocked off
That entire part of the house
Keeping to our rooms
And our one tiny lavatory
Even though there are
So many of us


The floors in our part of the house
Creak and give way
When we step on them
Sending us down into basements
We haven’t seen in our years


But it’s still preferable
To stepping on a spot
With no spot


We interrogate each other
Asking where the spot could have gone
Wanting to go back
Into the room
To see if it’s returned
But scared to find it gone
Or worse
Scared see it back
But bigger
And even harder
To get rid of


When the questions bring forth
No answers
We fall silent
Not wanting to hear
So much as a whisper
From the mouths
Of those we’ve been next to
For years


Cowering in our corners
We shut our doors
And lock ourselves away
Hoping the wind we hear
Will carry itself
Through every room
Finding things that won’t leave
And things
That are never

Coming back

A Swing That Won’t Stop Swinging

My fear would be
A swing that won’t stop swinging

A lone swing
On a quiet playground
Going back and forth
With nothing to stop it
And no wind
And no reason
To sway

The swing would whip
This way and that
Get caught up
In its own rope

The slide would stay put
The jungle gym empty
The merry-go-round
Would do a turn
Then stop
And never start again

But the swing
Will keep swinging

Up and up
But never over

The tension
Of it
Bursting past
And down again
Never achieved

Just high and in limbo
Trapped in the wide open
Left to stay aloft there
Until somebody
Lets it fall

And when it does
It doesn’t drop
The way it should

Stumbling to the right
It bounces up
And back again
Like bungee jumpers
Trying to give itself
A rattle

I sit in my house
Across from the playground
And try to pretend
It’s just sitting there
Dormant
Not in any kind
Of distress

But finally
I have to break

Racing across the street
I notice the empty wind
The stillness
But all the while
The swing ricochets
It damages the calm

When I get to it
I grab the ropes
But it lashes at me
Cutting up my palms
With blistering thread

With no other choice
I sit on its plank
And as soon as I do
It shoots up
In a forward direction
Nearly sending me
Out across the playground
Past the sand
And the spot
Where the pavement
Begins

Then pulls back
And shows me
The bottom
From a point
At the top

My legs slide down
And nearly off the plank
But then we’re down again

My hands sweat
My mouth opens
But only cold air gets in

I want to let go
I want to drop
I want this to be over

There’s no reason
For the push and pull
The rope should snap
The plank should break
The corridor I find myself in
Should expand far enough
So that I can at least
Go in a circle
Or some other kind of shape
That doesn’t feel so pointless
So limiting
So trapped

I get to the peak
Of the swingset
And with everything I have
Push myself
To bring forth the energy
To take me
Over the bar

And once I do
The swing stops
It deposits me
Back on the ground
Softly

As if it had never even
Moved

An inch

Saturday, November 16, 2019

The Elevator Only Goes Up

The elevator only goes up

If you want to go down
You take the stairs

And the stairs
Are a long way
Down

Floor after floor
While others
Go up

You could just
Keep going up

The sky goes first
Then the stars
Then the second sky
That rides atop
The stars

Too high?

An idea will hit you
When you reach
A higher platform
Of existence

An idea that
Down
Was always
A thing
To refuse

To refuse
To go down

To be
Brought down

The only reason
You ever
Hit that button
Every day
That said
Ground Floor
Was because somebody
Told you
That access
Was limited

That the availability
Of the higher levels
Was sectioned off
And given
To those
Who’ve earned it

And what did that mean?

What did that mean
To you?

Did you stop and think about it?

Or did you just
Accept what was given to you
And head down
Down
Down
To the lobby

Where everybody
Was so happy to see you
Because you were with them
And not off
A thousand floors up
Experiencing something
They could never even
Dream of?

We will take your feet
Off the ground

We will will take your feet
Off the floor
Of the elevator
That only goes up
And lift your chin
And propel you
Past gravity

You will never
Have to think
About being on solid footing
Ever again

But that’s just
If you get in the elevator
That only
Goes up

Because once you do
There’s no changing
Direction

There’s no redirecting
The course
Of your travel

Sign-up is done in ink
You hear me?

I don’t want belly-aching
When the roof of the elevator
Splits in two
And you’re taken out
So you can do away
With even that
Which took you
To the heights
You never thought
You’d find yourself at

You are above
You are the ideal of above

And up
And up
And up

You are only
Going

Up