If It's Not the Vaccine

They tell me that the vaccine had nothing to do with it

They say it wasn’t the vaccine’s fault

So whose fault was it?

Or, I guess, rather

What was at fault?

I’m not a stupid person

I understand science

I understand, logically

That a vaccine

That vaccines

Are, you know, harmless

But—my son got a shot

She had her shots, I mean

And then…

So what was it?

I mean, because, yes

I’m intelligent

And so, I understand cause and effect

I understand that something happens

And then something else happens

And so—something must have happened, right?

So what happened?

Did he eat something?

Did he touch something?

Was he allergic

To something?

I mean, I’m—I’m hysterical

I haven’t, you know, fallen apart—yet

But the only thing keeping me

From not, uh, losing my mind

Is trying to figure out

What caused this

So am I entertaining the idea

That maybe a vaccine caused it?

Yes, yes I am

I—an intelligent person

Am considering what I know to be

A ridiculous idea

Because—why not?

Because peanuts can kill you

Have you ever thought about

How ridiculous that is?

That peanuts

Can kill you?

But go into a pre-school

Where there’s a child that has a nut allergy

Say the word ‘peanut’

And watch everybody hit the floor

As if enemy planes are flying overhead

Something as stupid

As dumb as a peanut

Can kill you

But a vaccine can’t give you autism?

Why, right?

Or or or

--Why not?

I understand that it’s not likely

But are we saying

It’s not even possible?

That it’s impossible?

Is anything impossible?

Isn’t science built on the idea

That anything is possible?

But if it makes science look bad, right?

My son did the same thing everyday

Ate the same thing everyday

Ate healthy

I made sure his food was healthy

I made sure everything was fine

That he was never—

That he was safe

And, and, and

Cared for

No beestings

No power lines near our house

No injuries

He never had a scratch on him

And now he’s—

Something had to cause this

He was fine

He got vaccinated

And then—

So what am I supposed to think?

Tell me what I’m supposed to think?

Cause and effect

That’s all I’m saying

And people jump down my throat for it

Well, you know what?

Fuck you

Your kid is fine

And yes, yes—okay

Your kid got vaccinated

And he’s fine

Or she’s fine

But mine got vaccinated

And now he is

Not

Fine

And what am I supposed to do?

Say ‘Oh well?’

‘Stuff happens?’

Just…move on?

I…

Something caused this

This didn’t just

Happen

You want me to shut up?

You want me to stop saying that maybe it was vaccines?

Fine

But if it’s not vaccines

It’s something else

So…tell me what it is

And I’ll stop blaming the vaccinations

Believe me, I want to

I don’t like sounding ignorant

I don’t like having people yell at me online

In forums

When I’m just looking for information

When I’m just…

I’m just looking for help, but…

Tell me what did this

And I’ll believe you

I want to believe you

Just…

Just tell me what it was

A Quartet on the Moon

They sent a quartet to the moon

And when they landed

They set about to make music

For the stars

Soft music that echoed

Through the lost silence

Through the carbonated comets

Through the elegant reflections

The members of the quarter

Were left to float

Wherever they may

And so they were only playing together for a moment

Before going off

On different paths

One made it all the way to Saturn

Where the rings went ‘round her fingers

And she took in tri-colored poison

As if it were a chocolate milkshake

Her music became temperature

And it warmed whatever it touched

One got to Mars

Where red dust

Kicked up around his feet

And he felt like a sandstorm

On an ocean

Perfect and impossible

Another went into a black hole

And was never heard from again

Even though her music

Sprinkled out like atoms

And like rainwater

Into gutters

The last one made his way towards the sun

And as he burned away

His music scurried from him

And found its brothers and sisters

Along the wall of the Universe

And together

The millions of pieces

Became a quartet again

And played for as long

As anybody

Would listen

A Place to Put Your Dead

Bet four hundred

Go up, go up

Put the card up, Ron

I’m not cremating her

I told you, I’m not cremating her

She didn’t want to be cremated

She wanted to be buried

Go four hundred

…Go four fifty

Ron, shut the fuck up

And go four fifty

Otherwise what do we do?

You want me to dig a hole in the backyard?

I’ll dig a hole in the backyard

I think we have about two feet left

So we’re going to have to bury Mom standing up

Or do you want me to dig up one of our other relatives

And cremate them?

These are our choices, Ron

Now shut the fuck up

And go four—

Five!

Five hundred!

I don’t care

I don’t care, Ron

We’ll figure out the mortgage

We’ll figure it out some other way

We can’t cremate her

She’d never—

Well, this is how much a cemetery plot costs now, okay?

It’s simple math

It’s 2238, and with that many people in the world being buried

There isn’t any more room in cemeteries

That isn’t going for top dollar

So if you want to bury somebody

You have to pay up

Six fifty!

I’m not fucking around here, Ron

We’re burying her

We are burying Mom

One way or the other

These assholes want to bury their mothers

They’re gonna have to open a vein

Because my mother is not getting cremated

Against her wishes

When I die, you can fire up the furnace

And then spread me over toast

But Mom is being buried

I did absolutely nothing right as a daughter

I was a colic-y baby

An awful toddler

And a moody teenager

Then I grow up

And she gets sick

And I think she’s exaggerating about it

So I don’t come home

And she drops dead

I am in the Hall of Fame

Of terrible children

But if she wanted to be buried

Then she’s getting buried

It’s the—

Eight hundred!

These fuckers are bidding me up

And they think I don’t know it

Well guess what, fuckers?

Mama has two new credit cards

And no job to go to

So we can do this all damn day

If you want to

All she wanted was a simple grave

With a headstone

And some kind words

And a little patch of grass

Where we could kneel down

And say hi to her

From time to time

And that’s what she’s going to get

A person should be able to have something that for themselves

Not a ton of money, maybe

Or fame, or whatever

But just a place to rest

Once you’re dead

Just a place for your family

To come and visit you

And a family should have that too

A place to go and say… you know…

I’m sorry, Mom

I’m sorry I let you down

So I’m getting that

I’m getting that for her

And for—

Right here!

Right here and right here

And right here!

Anybody else bids

And I’m kicking their ass

And I’m not kidding about it!

You people probably just want to bury your pets anyway

Now that the pet cemeteries are filled up

And it’s not going to happen!

I will bid until I am in the poorhouse

And my mother has a grave

And I am

Not

Kidding

NOW DOES ANYBODY ELSE WANT TO BID?

…Thank you

I…

Thank you

It’s just this little thing, you know?

It’s like…

It’s the least I can do

Michael from "Amateurs"

The worst part is, you get excited.  You hear about somebody doing A Raisin in the Sun or Fences or The Wiz, even, and you get excited, because you think—Ohhhh—something for me.  And you only think that—and you only get excited—when it’s like—when somebody’s going to be backed into a corner about it, you get what I’m saying?  When you know they’re not going to have a choice.  Because when they have a choice—they choose the white guy.  Nobody wants to say that.  But it’s true.  Before they’ll take a chance, before they’ll re-imagine something, before they’ll worry about what their show looks like, they’ll cast the white guy.  Except when they can’t.  And so when they can’t, you get all excited about it, and then you get mad at yourself for getting all excited, because you know that the next show—the very next show—is going to be The Importance of Being Earnest or All My Sons or Cat on a Hot Tin Roof—I mean, think about it, when was the last time you saw somebody do The Piano Lesson followed by Topdog/Underdog or Ruined?  You don’t.  You don’t see that.  Because two black shows in a row and you’re the black theater.  And nobody wants to be the black theater—Hell, even black theaters don’t want to be the black theater.  Now, does anybody want to be the White Theater?  No.  But that doesn’t mean they want to be the Black Theater either.  And thinking you have a choice in the matter—that you can be the Diverse Theater of Many Colors That Loves and Accepts Everybody is stupid.  Maybe one day—but not today.  Not today.  Today there isn’t a White Theater on this planet that would want to be a Black Theater instead.  That’s just the truth.  I mean—that’s how I feel.  It’s true to me, you know?  That’s as true as I get.

Stolen Apples

Nowadays they don’t steal cash

They got red apples on their mind

Stolen apples

Baskets of ‘em in the grass

They hide in the shadows of the orchards

Behind the trees

Beneath the branches

And they whisper

Until they get their chance

See, we ain’t used to having apples

Not the way they used to do

And the orchards saved for rich folks

People we’re not allowed to go speaking to

We don’t believe we’re owed their money

But an apple

What’s an apple?

Hanging from a tree

If nobody picks it

It just sits up there

And rots

So we steal ‘em

I guess that makes us

Thieves

Your daddy lit your house on fire

My mother ran off when I was five

History’s tricky

It belongs to everybody

And nobody

And it just sits there

Either you pick it

Or it rots

That scar from where they shot you

Gets smaller everyday

But no matter how it shrinks, you know

It never goes away

One day you won’t need me

To tend to all your wounds

To steal your apples

Or slice them up

And feed them

To you

I like the way your legs look running

I like to hear you gasp for air

See you trying

See you wanna be alive

I watch you scale the tallest tree

And drop the treasures down

It rains fruit and laughter

As the apples hit the ground

I pretend that we’re allowed here

Then I hear the alarms go off

And grab the apples

And we go running

And dogs come running

But we don’t drop them

Our stolen apples

Or else what was all this for?

I want to kiss you before I die

See one more summer, one more fall

I want to bake an apple pie

And—Well, that’s about all

If they get me, get the apples

Get as many as you can

And just keep running

Don’t look behind you

Never look behind you

We both agreed

So climb a tree

Nobody knows what they’ll die for

They just know they’re gonna die

For freedom

Or for love

Or youth

Or stolen apples

At least make sure that you got to hold

Whatever it is you’re dying for

In your hands

Before you go

I’ve got my apple

The one you gave

To me

What We Did with the Train Stations

These are the train stations

--Or at least, these used to be

The train stations

We turned them into gardens

And restaurants

And theaters

We turned them into churches

And temples

And indoor swimming pools

We turned them into soup kitchens

And shelters

And warehouses

Some of them we left alone

And people moved into them

Good people and bad people

People with families

People who didn’t have anywhere else to go

People who liked trains

Or who used to like trains

Back when there were some

We let vines and bushes

Overtake some of the stations

And pretty soon

They became their own forests

Filled with animals

And darkness

Sounds and cries

If trains have ghosts

Then those stations

Were as haunted as anything

Stragglers walking by them at night

Swore they could hear the roar of the engine

And the screech of the brakes

On the tracks

One station still has people going in and out of it everyday

They walk in, sit, look down at their hands

Stare up at an unmoving clock

Wait a few hours

And then head home

Feeling tired

Feeling like they used to feel

Back when they had somewhere to be

There’s a station in Washington

That’s guarded by an old woman

With a shotgun

Who fires off a round

At anybody that goes near the place

There’s a station in Ohio

Where people play music night and day

Drink moonshine and hard cider

And talk about the world that fell away

When things were connected

By steel rods

And coal

And steam

We never tore a station down

Not a one

Because we told ourselves

That they were somehow sacred

That they represented something

And that whatever that was

Needed to be honored

And enshrined

Some of us would sit with our fathers

On the old wooden benches

Next to the empty newspaper stands

And close our eyes

And will the trains to move again

We’d imagine the wheels rolling

And the conductor checking his watch

We imagined trains the way they were

Years before they stopped working

Past the last point of progress

Back to when they were still a thing of magic

And romance

‘And they could take you anywhere,’ our fathers said to us

Anywhere

A place we’d like to go

If we could find a way to get there

If we could look at a ghost

And make it

Come alive

Beating the Prince

Have we found someone to beat the prince yet?

I found him playing in the garden again

And he got his new britches

Exceedingly dirty

For this, he must be punished

Unfortunately, I had the last prince beater executed

When I found him praying to a statue of a chicken

In the cutlery room

Now there’s no one to beat the prince

And, as you can imagine

He’s been extra naughty lately

Knowing there’s nobody to give him what for

When he misbehaves

Well, I can’t be expected to beat him

That’s the job of a servant

What would people think

If they saw me beating my own son?

Neither my father nor my mother ever laid a hand on me

And so I felt nothing but love for them

Throughout my childhood

My beater, on the other hand,

Was a peevish woman

Named Lucinda

Who could lay the devil into you

If you stepped out of line

Many was the day I’d be unable to sit

Because of the beating Lucinda gave me

God how I hated that woman

--And how I could use her now!

She’s dead, of course

I had her executed when I became queen

For beating me too soundly

That’s the trouble with the beaters

Eventually the children they beat grow up

And order that they be executed

For all the beatings they gave

That’s probably why nobody goes to school for beating anymore

It’s truly becoming a lost art

Gone is the day when you could stroll through the castle

While the sounds of sobbing children

Danced upon your ears

Oh sure, one or two of the royal children

Died as a result of the beatings

But anybody that weak

Could never make it in today’s world anyway

As my father used to say to my dear, departed brother Edward

‘If hanging from your feet with a knife wound in your abdomen kills you,

That’s the good Lord’s way of saying you aren’t fit to be royalty.’

I still carry my scars from Lucinda like trophies

From a long-fought war

It’s not like I was permanently damaged

From what she did

I may not be able to move the fingers on my right hand

But other than that

I’m perfectly potato

Oh damn, did I say potato instead of, uh, the word I meant to say?

Hanging upside down for days on end when you’re young

Does some funny things to your memory

Edward’s so lucky he just up and died

He would have hated not being to express himself properly

Well, time to go interview new beaters

I met a particularly lovely man who seems to have a strange obsession

With butchering livestock

He seems very promising

I have a feeling

The prince will be on his best behavior again

In no time

And My Husband Jim's Retired

He points out constellations

And I do the dishes

He went to this star and that star

And I scrape the plates

He tells our grandkids stories

And I empty out the dishwasher

And put a new load in

He stands in front of the telescope

Like it’s a loaded gun

And I dry my hands on a dish towel

And think of something to say

I’m a housewife, you see

And my husband Jim’s retired

I go to the market

I make us dinner

I chop carrots

I peel potatoes

And Jim scratches a rash on his arm

That wasn’t there a week ago

He asks me if I’ve noticed

That his left eye

Is now a different color

And I say I haven’t

I’ve never noticed, honestly

What color his left eye

Or his right eye is

He touches me at night

And his hands are cold

I kiss his fingers

And I taste something metallic

But I don’t say anything

I’m a silent partner

And my husband Jim’s retired

At parties, he can finish sentences

Right out of the mouths of strangers

People he’s never met before

And yet he knows them inside and out

On the way to my sister’s

We hit a deer with our car

He gets out and touches it

And the deer jumps up

And runs away

Can’t do anything about the car though

I guess deer are easier to fix

I burn the pork chops I’m making for dinner

And he eats them anyway

As long as it’s meat

He’ll swallow it whole and lick the plate clean

I’m a home cook

And my husband Jim’s retired

People ask me if he’s different

Since he got back from the last mission

And I say, ‘No, not really’

Because that’s all they want to hear

Nobody wants to know about the green freckles

All over his back

Or the way his nose seems to be sinking into his face

Or how when he sneezes, all the lights in the house

Go on and off

People wouldn’t believe it

Hell, Jim doesn’t even believe it

He says it’s getting older

And the signs of aging

And the lights are just blinking because our wiring’s all screwed up

And always has been

And I’m just supposed to be his wife

And to introduce myself as such

Hello, how are you?

Yes, I’m fine

This is my husband, Jim

He’s retired

I just keep doing what I’ve always done

Whether Jim was here

Or off in an orbit somewhere

Floating through the cosmos

I’ve just been here

Scraping mashed potatoes

Off white plates

Practicing saying—

‘I had a husband

But he never came back’

--Only then, he did

And now he sits in front of the window at night

Looking up at something only he can see

And I lay in bed thinking—

Who did they send back to me?

And somewhere downstairs

The dishwasher goes to sleep

Love Like the Weather

We’re good at predicting weather these days

If they say it’s going to snow on Tuesday

That means it’s going to snow on Tuesday

They give you a time and everything

2:04pm—rain

You look out your window at that time

And bam—rain

Meteorology is now an exact science

But that doesn’t help you much

When you fall in love with a weatherman

He could tell you when it was going to be sunny

But he couldn’t tell you when he was going to be in a good mood or…

…Or not be in a good mood

The better he got at predicting the weather

The better the, uh, science of it became

The less stable he was

Now—I’m not sure why that is

But I think it’s because the romance of his job

Was just, you know, gone

All of a sudden

There was no mystery to it anymore

No mystique, I mean

So he would just sit there

Poking at his bacon

Looking down at whatever ugly tie

He was wearing that day

Not saying anything to me

Except—‘It’s going to rain today’

‘What time?’ I’d ask

’12:27pm until 12:54, then it’ll be nice out.’

‘Well, that’s good,’ I say, ‘I’m glad the rain won’t last.’

He’d nod his head

Then keep right on

Bothering his bacon

Spinning his spoon around

In his coffee cup

Probably wondering if he should have been

A sports reporter

One day he just stopped coming home

And I stopped trying to get him home

And after that I would only see him on tv

I’d sit in my old armchair

And listen to him drone on

About hurricanes that we were never gonna see

Blizzards that were gonna just miss us

Thunderstorms that would touch down for a moment

And then go right back up into the sky again

Nothing to worry about

Nothing to fear

We always knew where we stood

--With the weather at least

If you wanted to

You could go outside

Close your eyes

Hold your arms out

And count down to the exact moment

When the rain would hit you

And you’d feel that cool freshness

That used to be a surprise

Now it was like a present

You could give yourself

But while you were standing out there

Getting rained on

A part of you would say—

‘I’m not opening my eyes

‘Til I hear his car pull up

I’m not opening my eyes

‘Til I know he’s coming home’

And you’d be out there for awhile

In the rain

Waiting to hear those tires

Waiting to open your eyes

Waiting for the rain to stop

A minute earlier or later

Than it was supposed to

So you’d know that things could still happen another way

So you’d know that something unpredictable was still possible

Or you could stand there and hope

That a man who knows the rain

Doesn’t know himself

And that you don’t know him either

You’re standing there hoping

And getting wet

And right when the rain is supposed to stop

It does

And it surprises you

And it doesn’t

And it breaks your heart

All at the same time

Downtown Tattoos

The girl’s got downtown tattoos

All up and down her arms

She’s got a head on her shoulders

Filled with other people’s dreams

And a brand new car she can’t drive

Old books on her selves

That she’s never gonna read

And a bucket list

With a hole in it

And she says—

I’m gonna go somewhere

Somewhere nice

Where I can get snowed in

Call me a cab for the airport, baby

I’ll find a plane with my name on it

I got ink on my arm

That some boys find charming

And a smile worth more

That a mile of unpaid bills

I want to look out a window

And see the sun

From another side of my life

Scrape the dirt off my beat up luggage

And maybe wind up somebody’s wife

I want to wake up in a city

With a name I can’t pronounce

Next to someone

Who looks like a friend

For once I want to know

What feels like a beginning

Instead of just another end

Maybe I’ll put a few new tattoos on my arm

Something that makes me think

With a little uptown ink

The Bathroom Floor

I hate being sober

I mean, I fucking hate it

I enjoyed being a drunk

I know it’s not for everybody

But everything’s gotta be for somebody, right?

Somebody’s gotta be the mess

And somebody’s gotta like being the mess

That’s the way I look at it

I should have died a long time ago

In a dirty hotel room

On a dirty bathroom floor

Surrounded by towels

That don’t belong to anybody

What could be more comforting than that?

But I just couldn’t do that

To some poor maid

If my ex-husband could’ve found me

Maybe I would have felt differently

But he’d been dead for years at that point

So why bother?

I been in a lot of hotel rooms

Some nicer than others

I been in a lot of dressing rooms

Some nicer than others

I kissed a lot of men

…Some a lot nicer than others

And I know what a finish line looks like

Every good runner does

And a long time ago

I saw a finish line

And I thought I was done

Said, I’m gonna cross there

And that’s gonna be it for me

I’ll have made it

As far as I’m gonna go

I touched the tape

I heard the crowd roar

Got flowers put around my neck

Like a prize winner

And I laid down

Ready to get shot

But nothin’ happened

I looked around

Got up

And started walking

You ever finish a race

And keep walkin?

What else you gonna do, right?

It’s not like somebody’s waiting there for you

With a wheelchair

You cross the finish line

And they expect you to keep going

And if you don’t got it in you

That’s just too bad for you, ain’t it?

‘Cause the world don’t stop spinning

And ain’t nothin’ finished

Just because you’re finished

Just because you got nothin’ left

So I kept movin’

Tellin’ stories

Spinnin’ songs

Waiting for another finish line

Waiting for somebody to show up

With that wheelchair

Tell me to take a load off

Let me put my feet up

And just go to sleep, you know?

On some cool bathroom floor

Surrounded by towels

Welcome to Your Divorce

Hello and welcome

To your divorce

We here at Badlen Industries

Seek to make this digital separation

As quick and painless as possible

And fair

Since a computer program

Will be determining

What you and your about-to-be former spouse

Will be receiving once your marriage has been dissolved

We’ve already had the opportunity to look over the forms you submitted

And go through the checklist you filled out

Helping us to come to a few conclusions

About how best to delegate your assets

First off, we’ve calculated the amount of fault

And have found that both of you are equally at fault

For the disaster that is your marriage

So—Congratulations!

You were not more at fault

Than your spouse

And that makes our job

A lot easier

Secondly, we detect that both of you

Truly are terrible people

Which means our decisions can be made

Without any concern for whether or not

We’re harming an innocent person

Since both of you are just awful

We’ve taken all your assets

And donated them to charity

This will leave you bankrupt and destitute

But we feel there should be consequences

For entering into a marriage you knew wasn’t going to work

After such a short amount of time together

We—and by we, I mean, the computer program

--Feel that some time on the cold, cold streets

Will be good for the both of you

Or, at the very least, it’ll make you think twice

Before doing anything like this again

We’ve given your pets to a nice happy family to raise

We’ve burned your house to the ground

And hired a priest to do an exorcism over the land

Since we feel there must now be some sort of demonic spirit residing there

After the two of you lived there for so long

We’ve contacted each of the people you’ve slept with

While the two of you were married

And let them know that they’ve probably been exposed

To any number of sexually transmitted diseases

We’ve also given them the names of several wonderful lawyers

So they can sue you for emotional distress

Oh, and we let both your mothers know that they were right

Our program shows that they were right about everything

And, as you can imagine, they were very happy to hear that

Finally, we’d like to thank you for choosing Badlen Industries

The Number One Divorce Software in America

And we hope that we can handle all the future divorces we’re sure you’ll have

Because we can’t imagine you making a marriage work with anyone

We would, however, like to link you to our new matchmaking website

In the event that you’d like to give our thirty-day free trial a go

Mooncatchers

Papa sent us out on a Tuesday night

To catch the moon

In our brand new shoes

Gotta wear new shoes

To catch the moon

Old ones slow you down

We run along the edge of town

With dresses on and hair pulled back

Buttons buttoned

Ties tied up

Looking like dancing folk

And the moon dips down

Like a lady getting into a pool

Knowing we’re gonna catch her

In our net

Two new moons’ll rise and fall

And one day

We’ll be grown

Until then

We’re as pretty as can be

Papa says we’re moon catchers

And that’s all

We could ever wanna be

Hands in hands

And coins in fountains

Wishes in a well

Stars that shine

That weddings

In the sky

I hope the river runs us up

And lets us float along

The people in the church

Pray for our souls

But we’re all set

Next to the tree

Where Papa first met Mama

The smell of lilac

Still sleeps in the air

A picnic table

A tire swing

Two kids from different pasts

An idea of who they were s’posed to be

Moon catchers can grab the moon

And hold it for awhile

But then you know

You have to set it free

What looks like you

And sings like Ma

And tells a story like our dad

Feels like something

I’m so scared to lose

But back we go

Behind the field

Around the settler’s pond

Into beds

Where we can’t

Fall asleep

Moon catchers still glowing

From the evening’s song and dance

Lunar dust caked on the bottom

Of our feet

My net’s hung above my bed

The window’s open just a bit

And Papa’s standing

Right behind the bedroom door

Laying here a child

Knowing childhood is done

All I know is

I couldn’t ask

For more

All Twelve of Mary's Sisters Are Married

We don’t want her to feel bad

But the facts are the facts

And the facts are

That all twelve of Mary’s sisters are married

And Mary is not

Now, when you have thirteen daughters

You certainly can't expect all thirteen of them

To wind up married

It is 1934 after all

These are modern times

You expect that one of them will be a nun

Or an eccentric, like Mildred who lives down the street

And wears pants even when she’s not gardening

You assume that one of them will shun the idea of being married

And when that happens

You’ll do what any parent would do

And never speak to her again

But when twelve of your girls

End up happily married

To wonderful young men

And Mary, your third prettiest daughter

Is still alone, well—

It does make you wonder

For awhile there, we assumed that Crippled Natalie

Would be keeping Mary company

At the Single Girls Table

But now that she’s tied the knot

It’s just Mary

Hmm?

Oh—Yes, well, we have to call her that

Because, you see, we have another daughter named Natalie

John and I just LOVE the name Natalie

And when Old Natalie became ill

We thought, Well, we’d better name this new daughter Natalie

So we’ll still have a Natalie

But then Old Natalie recovered

And new Natalie injured her leg

In that unfortunate tomato cart accident

So it just made sense to call New Natalie

Crippled Natalie

So we wouldn’t get confused

We told Mary if she didn’t get engaged soon

We’d have to start calling her Unmarried Mary

And she laughed and laughed

As though we were joking

But we were not joking

You see, we have two other Mary’s

Mary with the Weird Eye

And Mary Who Smells of Chicken

And so we need to call the last Mary something

And for awhile we called her Probably Going to Get Married Mary

Because we assumed she was probably going to get married

And we also assumed that Weird Eye Mary and Chicken Mary

Were NOT going to get married

But, yet again, we were proven wrong

We kept trying to give Unmarried Mary to the men

Who wanted to marry our other daughters

Since it didn’t seem right that girls with deformed legs

And weird eyes

Should get married before other girls

Who have nothing wrong with them

Aside from stringy hair

And overactive sweat glands

But the men insisted on the women they fell in love with

And so Mary was left out in the cold

Along with our daughter Sophia

Who, for some reason, enjoys eating snow

After people have stepped in it

John and I certainly have an interesting group of children

I guess that’s what happens when you marry your own uncle

Mother always said how nice it was to go to a wedding

Where people could sit wherever they wanted

Because everybody was on the same side

Sophia the Snow Eater married the ice man

Which, I suppose, we should have seen coming

But I do wish we could find someone for sad little Mary

If not, she’ll just live at home with John and me

And care for us in our old age

She’ll just have to wear clothing made of stronger fabric

Since all that sweating makes the poor creature

Look like she’s always coming in

From out of the rain

I’m still holding out hope that she’ll meet someone

But as time marches on, my hope dwindles

And as I always say to Unmarried Mary

‘It’s not that your father and I love you any less

Because you’re not married

We just love the other girls a little bit more’

Then she storms out of the room

And into the cupboard

Where we let her sleep

It was the only room left

By the time she was born

And she’s used to it now

Oh dear, oh dear

Parenting well can be so tricky

Tracy Who Might Not Work Here

We’re not exactly sure if Tracy

Works here or not

If she does work here

Then she’s in big trouble

Because these documents

Were supposed to be in the mail last week

But if she doesn’t work here

Then I can see how she might have forgotten

To send them out

I mean, we’re all human

We all make mistakes

But there are other things

That aren’t getting done

And I can only really blame Tracy for that

Assuming she did, in fact, get hired

When she was supposed to have been hired

But then again

We were hiring her to be the person

In charge of hiring

Which has left us in a kind of paradox

We’re not sure how to get out of

It’s possible that Tracy thought to hire herself

You know, to, uh, take it upon herself

To be hired

If one can do such a thing

And if she did—as one does

Then I really have to speak with her

Because, though I would admire her determination

We really can’t have people hiring themselves

Willy nilly

When money right now is so tight

So while it would be fine for her to have hired herself

Because we need somebody to send out these documents

And also, to do the hiring of others

I feel it might set a scary precedent

That we would need to address immediately

The problem is

Addressing scary precedents

Or policies that we feel

May not be working

Is also the job of the person

In charge of hiring

So Tracy would need to address the precedent

She set

By hiring herself

And then decide what she wants to do about it

And, of course, that presents a conflict of interest

And I’m not really sure who’s in charge of conflicts of interest

But I hope it’s not Tracy

Or whoever would be in Tracy’s position

Because then the job would fall to me

And I’m in Barcelona all next week

Which means the problem wouldn’t be deal with

Until I get back

And by then the documents will be pretty much worthless

And the Head Office will be up my ass sideways

Maybe I can have Tracy call the Head Office

If she is, in fact, hired

But if she is, she has a lot to answer for

Because, as you can see, things are a mess around here

Documents aren’t being signed

People are hiring themselves

The coffeepot hasn’t been fixed

Even though I wrote Tracy several memos about it

And marked the last one as ‘Urgent’

So if Tracy does work here

I think we need to ask ourselves

If her employment is really working out

Or if we need to explore whether or not

This is the right place for her

And if it’s not

Then we need her to hire

Someone to fire her

Because the person in charge of firing

Is also the person in charge of hiring

Unless she can just fire herself?

Or would that be considered quitting?

I hope she can quit

Because I’m not sure we have someone

To sign off on severance pay

Or do we have someone?

Did we hire someone?

I can’t remember

I’ll have to send Tracy a memo

After I find out whether or not

She actually works here

Wait, I’m not Tracy

…Am I?

Wow, that would be

A big problem

A Bigger Ring

A Bigger Ring

(JEFF and CLAIRE are seated at a café.)

                                   JEFF

                                   So you don’t want to marry me?

                                    CLAIRE

No, I do want to marry you!  I really do.  I’m just…going to need a bigger ring.

JEFF

I’m so offended right now.

CLAIRE

Jeff, it’s not your fault.  You’ve never bought a ring before—it’s no wonder you’re terrible at it.

JEFF

It’s just a ring, Claire.

CLAIRE

Jeff, it’s not just a ring.  It’s something I have to post pictures of online in order to make people jealous.

JEFF

I’m not buying you a bigger ring, Claire.

CLAIRE

(Laughs.)

No, you don’t understand.  I need you to buy me a bigger ring.

JEFF

No.  I love you, and I’d do anything for you, but I will stick my hand up a warthog’s ass before I will buy you a bigger ring.

CLAIRE

Is it a money thing?  I’ll loan you the money!

JEFF

It’s not about the money.  It’s about the principle of the thing.

CLAIRE

I’ll loan you the principle!  Wait, no, I guess I can’t do that.

JEFF

If you want to marry me, you’re going to have to marry me with the ring I gave you.

CLAIRE

Okay, can I post a photo of another ring and tell people it’s the ring you gave me?

JEFF

No!

CLAIRE

Jeff, you know I love you more than anybody else on the planet so I’m going to try and say this in a way that doesn’t’ hurt your feelings:  That ring looks like it came out of a Happy Meal and looking at it makes me sad.

JEFF

Fine.  We’re not engaged.  I’m going to go jump off a cliff.

CLAIRE

No!  I’m sorry.  I am—I…forget it.  It’s a perfectly nice ring, and I…I can’t believe I asked you to get a new one.  That was…really insensitive of me.

JEFF

Thank you.

(He takes a small box out of his pocket and puts it down on the table in front of her.)

CLAIRE

                                    What’s that?

                                    JEFF

                                    A much nicer ring.  Next time give me more credit.

(CLAIRE squeals with joy and hugs him.  Lights.)