The Poem Boys

 

Tim: The wall is not without two sides
One to live freely and one to hide
Whirling, twirling I dwell within
The wall, not knowing my freedom has died

(He goes to write it down, mumbling the words to remember them)
(Shawn walks in as Jim, tired from just waking up)

Jim: Good morning, Tim.
Tim: Good morning, Jim.
Jim: Is it really afternoon? The sun always comes up too soon for my taste.
Tim: Haste makes waste I always say.
Jim: And I agree.
Tim: But unfortunately for you, last night’s fun pales to missing this day. (opens the curtains letting stronger light in)
Jim: What did you say?
Tim: I’m saying there’s too much sleeping here.
Jim: Oh shut up. Can I have a beer?
Tim: Only if you bring me two.
Jim: (brings one coffee and one beer) This one’s for me, and this one’s for you. (sits and takes a big whiff of coffee) Mmmm… “Ode to Coffee” Write this down.
Locked again up in my head
This constant morning daze
A haze
Consistency of jello
Keeping thoughts held to microscopic movements.
Tim: (writing, interrupts) Microscopic quagmire movements.
Jim: (accepts the addition, then smells the coffee again for more inspiration)
But this smell
Aims to tell me it will all soon be ended
Luscious satin liquid
Burning brightness to my body and toungue
The armies mounted
The caffeine war’s begun
Trudging up the morning mountain
To the realm where all humans reside, save me.
And Oh, thank God the coffee’s warm
I feel my speed rising into storm
As the coffee slowly cools inside my belt
Tim: Wow, is that really what you felt? So all you do is drink a cup and all your thoughts come bubbling up.
Jim: That’s what is does, I love my cup of coffee cuz.
Tim: You know we are the greatest poets ever.
Jim: Yes, we’re funny, insightful, and clever.
Tim: Without a doubt, the world will shout
Jim: Of our creative clout!
Tim: Ahh, you know Jim, you’ll always be my friend.
Jim: I know Tim, to the very, very ever.
(They both look confused)
Tim: What was that? That wasn’t right.
Jim: (trying again) To the very, very… endocrine system. I can’t say it. I can’t rhyme.
Tim: We used to do it every tiny. That’s not what I meant to say. What’s happening?
Jim: I don’t know. We’ve forgotten all we’ve learned. We are poets for God’s sake! Do something!!!
Tim: Calm down, I’ve got it. Serve me an easy rhyme. I’ll return it.
Jim: OK, OK… A hole filled with honey in a Cypress tree.
Tim: Would attract a billion, busy, buzzing, bolts. I can’t do it!!! We’ve lost it!!!
Jim: This is bad. This is very, very bad!!! We used to be good.
Tim: What did we do to deserve this? If we can’t rhyme, everything is lost. The worls will be in turmoil, economies will collapse. I’ll lose my girlfriend!!!
Jim: What will my parents think. My whole life has been based on rhyming. They taught me how to rhyme before I could even ride a bike. The will kill them.
Tim: I’m going to kill myself!!!
Jim: Noooo!!! Don’t do it. I need you.
Tim: I can’t go on. I can’t go on.
Jim: God, why have you forsaken us???!!!
(Utter confusion and ad-libbing, One screams he’s dying and falls to the floor. Both are weeping until it gradually calms down)
Tim: Hey, I’m still alive. Maybe we don’t have to rhyme.
Jim: Maybe every other time.