Playaday: Colors

#17—color poem

CHARACTERS

RED

ORANGE

YELLOW
GREEN

BLUE 

PURPLE

Each wears a costume in its color.

WHITE LIGHT Wears a voluminous translucent white robe, big enough to hold the others.

SETTING: Inside a rainbow. (What the heck? The purpose of writing these little bits is to open up the imagination.)

GREEN

It’s mostly mine, you know. All of that. Grass, trees. Mostly mine.

BLUE

You’re kidding, right? It’s mine all the way. All that water and those clouds.

GREEN

Clouds are white.

YELLOW

No they aren’t. They’re yellow a lot of the time, and blue. 

ORANGE

And orange. At sunset anyhow, and some sunrises.

RED

Yeah, but. You guys might be common, but it’s being uncommon that’s cool. I mean, how often do I appear? Cardinals, a few red flowers, some of the stuff the people make. Special. I’m not common, I’m special. The one per cent.

PURPLE

However. I am, and have always been, royal. The majesty of my mountains, yes? The expense of the dye stuffs to color the garments of kinds and queens. Everybody knows that my title is “Royal.”

GREEN

Well, I don’t care what you say. It’s mostly mine. Besides, if any of you gets mixed up with white, you turn into an icky pastel. Pink, peach. . . . 

YELLOW

Ahem.

GREEN

Okay, okay. Generalization. But Purple is lavender, which is hardly royal.

PURPLE

Of course it isn’t. But it isn’t me.

RED

Any more than pink is me. I’m RED, right? Fire engines and sports cars and mittens and.  .

GREEN

And fires, right?

RED

Hey, that’s mosly orange and yellow.

ORANGE

And fires are not our fault. Come on.

BLUE

(Sings) “I’d rather be blue/ Thinking of you,/ I’d rather be blue/ Than be happy/ As somebody/ Else.”

WHITE LIGHT

(Enters with a flourish.)

Okay, everybody in! Come on, come on! Rain’s over, party’s over. In you go, in you go.

(The colors quickly scurry under White’s robes, which are closed. The curtain falls as White stands there, motionless, the others visible through the cloth.)

Playaday: About Coffee

#61—Write about coffee

CHARACTERS

A playwright 

SETTING

A study. The playwright sits at the desk, drinking coffee. There is an electric drip-pot in easy reach.

PLAYWRIGHT

(Staring at screen.)

Okay. A play about coffee. Sounds stupid to me, but at least it will pay. Who’d have thought that a coffee roaster would pay me to write a whole play about coffee? Huh. Featuring him. And his wife and his brother-in-law and his obnoxious teen-aged daughter. Well, okay. I can do this. Ten thousand bucks is ten thousand bucks, even though it feels like selling out. Let’s see now

(Types while talking.)

Characters:

A Coffee Roaster. Forty-ish, tall, handsome. Jeans and a buffalo-check shirt.

Wife.  Slim, blonde ponytail. Fleece and spandex and expensive running shoes.

Brother-in-law:   (Sits back and stares at the screen.)

Okay. That’s all type cast, right? They’re just playing themselves here. And if I were to do the slacker brother-in-law, he’d be an asshole, because he is. Okay. Redo. Let’s see.  

(Types again.) 

Characters:

An asshole. No. Come on. Think ten thousand bucks.  Characters. Miranda: Teenager. Blue mohawk, tattoos, torn jeans. Coffee addict. Paula: her mother. Plump, tired, mom jeans and sweatshirt with sequins. Jeff: her father. A coffee roaster. Shabby, unshaven but not in a cool way. Brad: her uncle—mother’s brother. A Guy in a Suit who wants to take over the coffee business.

(Sits back.) Nope. That would work, wouldn’t it? As a play? But not as a ten thousand dollar production about the company. Okay. Third time’s the charm.

(Types.)

Characters:

A King. Forty-ish, tall, handsome. Fairy-tale style robes and crown. A Queen:  Fairy tale style. A Princess: Dressed like a princess but with bare feet. A Knight: Heavy armor, with a mask. 

(Sits back.)

Ha! That way I get to see him clunking around. Good. And, let’s see. The barefoot princess will discover coffee bushes and the King will wonder what to do with them and the Queen will figure out how to roast the beans and the Knight will clank around. Or maybe he could be a jester instead? Okay. Work, work. Ten thousand dollars, here we come.

(Starts typing.)

Playaday: Forget Matilda

#100—Forget Matilda

CHARACTERS

RYAN—middle-aged male, conventional clothing, red sneakers
SYLVIA—old female, conventional clothing, red sneakers

Setting: A bare stage, two chairs.

(Ryan enters, sits, looks at the audience in despair.)

RYAN
It’s over. Three months of my life, in vain. I tried and tried and it didn’t work and she left. I don’t know what to do. I simply don’t know what to do. How can I go on?

(Sylvia enters, stands looking at him for a minute, pulls up the other chair and sits down, facing him.)

RYAN

Who are you?

SYLVIA
I’m Sylvia. Who are you, oh miserable man?

RYAN
Why should I tell you?

SYLVIA
Because I saw you sitting here and I’m going to help you. 

RYAN

Why should you help me?

SYLVIA
Because it’s what I do. I’m a general helper. I wander around looking for people to help and I help them.

RYAN
I don’t know you at all. I’ve never seen you before. Why should I tell you my troubles?

SYLVIA
Because you don’t know me and you’ve never seen me before, that’s why. Nothing like a stranger. I have no stake in what happens to you because I’m not your family and I’m not your friend, and I didn’t cause your troubles. Right? So tell me.

RYAN

Okay. I guess that makes some kind of sense.

SYLVIA
Of course it does. Tell me.

RYAN

It’s Matilda. 

SYLVIA
And she is?

RYAN

My girlfriend. My ex-girlfriend. I thought she was the one, you know? Everything was going so well. And then she, welll, she just up and told me that she was moving to California, of all places, because she got a good job offer there. So I said I’d find a job there, too, and go with her, and she said not to bother. And she just got up and walked away. That was it. What can I do?

SYLVIA
Seems pretty clear to me.

RYAN

What?

SYLVIA
Well, she spared you all kinds of agony. She made it really, really clear that whatever you had going with her is over. 

RYAN

So what do I do?

SYLVIA
Forget her.

RYAN

Forget her? That’s your advice?

SYLVIA
Yup. Forget Matilda and get on with your life. ‘Bye now. No need to thank me.

(Exits.)

RYAN

Forget her? I guess that never occured to me. Well, okay. I guess I can do that. Forget Matilda. Good. 

(He closes his eyes for a minute, breathes deeply.)

There. That’s done.

(Stands, shakes himself, and exits.)

Playaday: What you’ve forgotten

CHARACTERS

Linda—a retired nurse

Nancy—a disaffected priest

Vicky—a retired lawyer

Sharon—a massage therapist

Sally—a matriarch

Setting:  A coffee shop. They are all seated around the table.

VICKY

I hate it that I can’t remember things. Yesterday it was my glasses. I took them off when I came home from running errands because they were fogged up from the mask and the cold, and I put them somewhere. And when I sat down to read the paper, I realized I didn’t have them on my face. So I looked on the table in the front all. Not there. KItchen counter. Not there. Then I asked Sharon if she’d seen them.

SHARON

I asked her if she left them in the car. Well, no.

VICKY

I went out to check. Retraced my steps. And realized I had checked email on my computer and I always take my glasses off to look at the screen. But they weren’t on my desk. Then Binky came in and walked across the keyboard. Damned cat is determined to leave his mark on everything I do.

SHARON

Hey! He’s old. He just wants attention.

LINDA

Sorta like me.

NANCY

Ha! Like all of us.

SALLY

It’s been a long time since I”ve walked across a keyboard. Maybe I should try that.

NANCY

So you obviously found them, since they’re on your face now.

VICKY

Yeah. Turns out Binky had somehow knocked them on the floor, and I couldn’t see them on the carpet. Geez. I’m getting pathetic.

SALLY

Bob and I got an idea awhile ago. We could get a big, big basket and put everything in it. That way we could always find things. Keys, glasses, mail, coffee cups, water bottles, gloves, hats, library books. . .

NANCY

I love it. But how big would the basket have to be?

LINDA

Mine would have to be the size of my house. And I live alone.

NANCY

Huh. I might try that, actually. A basket by the door. 

SHARON

Let us know if it works. Vicky can’t find her calendar now that it’s not on her phone.

VICKY

But that’s probably okay. it’s not like I do anything but have coffee with you people.

SHARON

Speaking of which—gotta go. Same time next week?

NANCY

Yup. See you then.

Playaday: How People Drive

#8—How people drive

CHARACTERS

DEER

RABBIT

SQUIRREL

SETTING:  A forest clearing, late afternoon.

DEER

They drive at twilight. That’s really so stupid. They can’t see anything then. They don’t know where the trails are, and they get in the way. We’re going about our business, right? Moving from the woods to the pasture or back again? And we go in a narrow line on the trails so as not to disturb everything the way they do. When we bump into them, it hurts us and sometimes we even die. I hate it. And even though sometimes they die too, or their cars get smashed up, they don’t seem to learn.

RABBIT

Yeah, well. I know what you mean. Same here, trying to cross those hard paths they make in the half-dark. And when we run from them the way we’ve learned, the way that so often works when coyotes or foxes chase us, they catch us anyway. They squash us and leave us for the crows and vultures. And they think “only a rabbit.” Doesn’t seem to bother them at all.

SQUIRREL

Hey, hey. We have to be out in the daytime. Even worse, even worse. Acorns, right? Seeds. Gotta get ‘em while it’s light. Dodge and spin. Decide quick. Back and forth. Tuck in the tail. Get between those wheel things. Fast as you can. Bad animals, them. Only squirrels. Yeah. Only squirrels.

DEER

Gotta get going. I’m meeting the kids up on the ridge. Wish me luck.

RABBIT

Yeah, me too. Wish me luck.

SQUIRREL

Good luck, guys. Heading for the nest. Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow.

DEER

Who knows?

RABBIT

Yeah, whoever knows?

Playaday: Affecting Adult

13—Adult who affected you strongly as a child

CHARACTERS

MARY—an overly imaginative second grader

MARY’S MOM

MRS. ROGERS—a colorless, depressed second grade teacher who hates teaching

MARY’S DAD

SCENE ONE

The family kitchen. Mary is talking with her mother.

MARY
And we’re going to do a play! A Christmas play.

MOM

Tell me about it.

MARY

There will be Mary and Joseph and Wise Men and Shepherds. And guess what?

MOM

What?

MARY
I get to be the Angel Gabriel!

MOM
Oh my. And what will you do?

MARY
I’ll tell Mary about Baby Jesus and then I’ll tell the Shepherds. And guess what?

MOM

What?

MARY
I have a beautiful costume.

MOM

You do? What does it look like?

MARY

It’s a long white dress with sparkles in it. And I have silver wings. Great big silver wings. And a halo. That’s golden.

MOM
That sounds very fancy. When is the play?

MARY
Right before Christmas.

MOM
I’m looking forward to it.

MARY
Oh. No. You can’t come.

MOM

Why not?

MARY

You just can’t. Mothers can’t come. It’s only for the school.

MOM

That doesn’t make any sense.

MARY
But you can’t! It’s only for the school!

MOM

I’m going to talk with Mrs. Rogers and find out,

MARY

No! No! You can’t! You can’t come! Don’t talk to Mrs. Rogers! You just can’t come!

SCENE TWO

A Classroom, after school. Mrs. Rogers is sitting at her desk, correcting papers. Mom enters.

MRS. ROGERS

(Looking up.)  Hello. Who are you?

MOM

I’m Mary’s mother.

MRS. ROGERS

Oh. Well, what do you want? Mary’s doing very well in school.

MOM

I know she is. But she tells me that she is in a Christmas play, and that parents can’t come to it.

MRS. ROGERS

Where in the world did she get that idea? There is no Christmas play.

MOM

Oh. I see. Well, thank you. 

SCENE THREE

The kitchen. Mary’s Mom and Dad are seated at the table.

MOM

We have to move. She can’t go to that school. There’s nothing for her there. She spends all her time making up stories.

DAD

Is that a bad thing? I used to make up stories in my head all the time. She has a good imagination,

MOM
I know, I know. Making up stories isn’t bad. Using her imagination isn’t bad. But if she’s doing that in school, it means she isn’t learning anything there. We have to move. At least out of the town school district.

DAD

All right. We can start looking for a house in city. It’s about time we stopped renting anyway.

MOM

Good. I’ll get the paper and see if there’s anything for sale now.

I don’t know about the conversation in Scene Three, but the rest is true, and we did move so I got to go to a better school. But now I credit Mrs. Rogers for sparking my interest in making up plays! 

Playaday: View from the Top

#83—View from the Top

CHARACTERS

Two people sitting on a park bench:

ONE and

TWO

ONE

So. I’m supposed to write an article about “The view from the top,” and I don’t have the faintest idea how to begin. The top of what? A tree? What’s the highest thing you’ve ever been on? 

TWO

Easy. An airplane?

ONE

Nah. Airplanes don’t count. That’s a view from above, not the top. 

TWO

Okay. Definitely not a tree. I’ve never been in the top of a tree, and I don’t ever want to be, either. A mountain, I guess. Maybe a sky scraper?

ONE

Oh yeah, a skyscraper. I hadn’t thought of that. I once had a piece of German chocolate cake in that restaurant on the top of the old World Trade Center. And then I went out and looked at the view, and got really nauseous. I don’t think I barfed, but I might have.

TWO

Wow. The World Trade Center. I never made it to that one. Why did you get nauseous?

ONE

I don’t know. Vertigo, maybe. Maybe because it was windy and they say those tall buildings sway? Maybe it was just the cake. It was a huge piece and really rich. But this isn’t getting me anywhere. 

TWO

Sure it is. You saw a view up there.

ONE

Yeah, I must have. But I don’t remember it. Have you ever been in a tall building?

TWO

Yeah. Empire State when I was a kid, but I don’t remember that. But I do remember the Palace of Culture and Science in Warsaw.

ONE

Never heard of it. What were you doing there?

TWO

Visiting my aunt. 

ONE

I didn’t know you had an aunt in Warsaw.

TWO

Yeah. Well, neither did I till a few years ago. Anyhow, that’s a long story. The point is, the Palace is this gigantic building that the Soviets built back in the 50’s. It’s really tall, I think one of the tallest buildings in Europe. And like I say, gigantic. Anyhow, My aunt took me there, and we went to the top. 

ONE

Good view?

TWO

Well, that was the funny thing. I only know things like “please” and “thank you” and “good morning” in Polish. My aunt speaks English, but, you know, with a heavy accent. And she gets stuff wrong. So she said, “Good view but not today because of frog,” And of course she meant fog. When I told her, she laughed, and then she said that instead of saying “please,” I’d been saying “little pig.”

ONE

That’s a good story, but it doesn’t help much.

TWO

Well, maybe the point could be that there isn’t a view. No matter how high you get. There just isn’t one. Because you’ve had too much cake, or because of the frog.

ONE

Yeah, I suppose. I guess I just have to keep thinking.

Playaday: The gods at home

#40–A poem in the voice of a god or goddess

CHARACTERS

HESTIA—goddess of the hearth

ATHENA—goddess of war, among other things

LOKI—the Trickster

SETTING

The Media Room on Olympus, comfortably furnished. Coffee table with bags of junk food. A TV that’s on, no sound.

At Rise:

Hestia sprawled on the sofa, eating something crunchy out of a bag. Athena in a chair, watching the screen, intently. 

ATHENA

Look at that. Will you just look at it? It’s my thing, and even I’m appalled. Oh, for the days of single combat!

HESTIA
Ah, who gives a shit? I gave up on that lot a long time ago. We were here before they were, we’ll be here after they’re gone. Why bother yourself with them?

ATHENA

I think you’re wrong. I think that when they’re gone, we will be, too. I mean, think about it. Since that Greek lot faded away, we’ve been pretty much confined here. Nobody calls us, nobody burns cattle for us, nobody challenges us. Nobody down there believes in us. We’re just, just, characters in stories. That’s the only thing that keeps us going. So when they’re gone, the stories will be gone, too. We’re just doomed.

HESTIA
Maybe you are, but who every told a story about me? I’m fire, right? Have you ever seen a statue of me?

ATHENA

Um. I guess not. But there’ve got to be some. I mean, those Greeks made statues of everything.

HESTIA

Well, yeah. A few. But nothing like the ones of you, and Hera and Aphrodite. Everybody knows what Aphrodite looks like.

ATHENA

Or what they think she looked like. Or used to look like. I mean, now, she’s just another old woman trying to keep her girlish figure.

HESTIA

Anyhow, my point is. I’m the personification of fire, so even without them, I’ll be here. Maybe even more so, depending

ATHENA

But isn’t it about the hearth? I mean, there won’t be any actual hearths when they’re gone. 

HESTIA
Who knows? I’m not losing any sleep over it. Want some chips?

ATHENA

No thanks.

HESTIA
Party mix? Demeter made some fresh. It’s pretty good.

ATHENA

Oh, maybe. She does make good party mix. Lots of garlic.

(She gets some food and sits comfortably.)

(Loki enters.)

HESTIA
Son of a gun. Loki. What are you doing on this mountain? I thought you were still bound. Has your Ragnarok happened already?

LOKI

Nope. It turns out it might not. Who knows? Wotan and that lot are all sitting around trying to figure out if they need to arm up. Nobody’s been paying much attention to me lately and my chains kinda wore out, so I left. And I heard that there were good snacks here. Might was well hang out with you all, if you don’t mind. 

HESTIA
Sure. Help yourself.

ATHENA
Make yourself at home.

LOKI

(Grabbing a handful of food and sitting.)

Thanks.

Playaday: Ripping Paper

What a terrible prompt.

#107—Ripping Paper

CHARACTERS
Writer at a Typewriter
Artist with a sketch pad
Toddler 
Dog


SETTING
The humans are seated around a table, on which is a stack of paper. The dog is under the table.


WRITER
I like to rip paper. Whenever I write something that’s terrible, I enjoy tearing it up into thin strips, and then crumpling the strips into a ball which I then toss on the floor.
(Removes a piece of paper from the typewriter, tears it, crumples it, and throws it on the floor.)


ARTIST
I like to rip paper. Every day I draw a little sketch, just for practice, and then I tear it in half and wad it up and throw it over my shoulder.
(Does that.)


TODDLER
I like to rip paper. 
(Grabs a fistful of paper from the table and starts tearing it and throwing the pieces around.) 

DOG
Woof.
(Picks up papers on the floor and tears them into tiny pieces. )

Playaday: Savoring Senses

#115—What can I love and savor through my senses?


CHARACTERS

HUMAN
HAWK 
BEAR
BAT
MOLE

Setting: The edge of a forest. A semi-circle with Human in the center

HUMAN
All right, you guys. I’ve brought you here because I want to know what your worlds are like. So tell me.

HAWK
Oh, I can see. I can see miles and miles. My world is clear and far and full. And silent, but for the wind.

BEAR
And my world is dark and snuffly, full of musk and meat, grubs, berries, apples, acorns, the edible treasures you throw into cans and hang in feeders. And you, always you, and your dogs, all around.

BAT
Nothing but sound. Sharp and hard. Buzzings and screamings and the dullnesses of clotheslines and grass. The hollowness of openings in boxes and towers and holes in walls.

MOLE
Thick, wet, dry, crumbly, slick, live and soft, dark and hard. Edible, poison. Spring, sharp. Air near the tops.

ALL BUT HUMAN
And you, Human? Tell us your world.

HUMAN
Not as clear or far, but enough for me. Flowers an dfood, just enough. Wind and music and th evoices of my friends. Not every rustle and click and snap. The smooth sheets and stones, the rough of pavement and sand. And, too, the sweet of peach and bitter of coffee. The salt of cheese, the comfort of bread. The taste of coming snow. The sense of who I am.

Also written among the thrum and bustle of our son’s family. I did not write one on the 14th, in the car on the way home.