copyright © 2005 Danielle Santangelo Kovalick

A Poem for Mom

by danielle santangelo

Lights. A MAN stands center, addressing a particular point in the audience. He is nervous and shaking.

MAN

Um, you like poetry? ‘cause…’cause I wrote you a thing. It’s just this…(he fumbles around in his pocket, pulls out a tattered piece of paper) it’s on this paper. It’s it’s called a limerick. I mean…I mean that’s not the title. I mean structure or something of…the…poem. Here it goes. It’s called "Tonight."

He reads.

There once was a beauty named Kate

She and I went on a date

We went to the dance

We both took a chance

And stayed out til it was really late.

He folds the paper and quickly stuffs it into his pocket.

Did you like it? My mother always wanted me to be a poet in my free time. Y’know like how parents dream of their sons being baseball stars? My mom had big plans for me to morph into some kind of e.e. cummings. But I‘d just write some silly words like,

My intentions the moon cannot see,

They hide behind the clouds at day–

MOM enters from behind. She stands at a distance from him.

MOM

Honey that is the worst piece of yuckypoopoodoodoocaacaa I’ve ever heard. Poetry should be romantic not abstract. Poetry should describe your intentions, not the source that hinders them. (she smiles gaily)

MAN

So I wrote a poem describing my intentions:

With cards and candy, I have no use,

I want to suck on the apples of your cheeks until I make apple juice.

MOM

Inappropriate.

 

MAN (flustered and embarrassed)

Anyway, enough about my Mom. Uh…so what else can we talk about…um, well, we can talk about those dimples you got there. Those dimples are great. They’re so deep. Like inverted pimples. But deeper. (long pause) I want to stick the tip of my tongue in there and make a fart noise with my spit. (catches himself off-guard). I’m just KIDDING. (laughing at himself, nervously). Who DOES that? (silence) So poetry! We should…go back to that…um…so this one time in 4TH grade I was required to write a poem and that was bad. They were Thanksgiving limericks. Mother didn’t like mine too much:

Thanksgiving comes but once a year

So sit down and have a beer

Eat a piece of pie

Cranberry on rye

And tell everyone that you’re a queer

My mom didn’t like that one. She said,

MOM

Do you have something you’d like to tell me?

The MAN is now nine years old, on his knees and directly talking to her.

MAN

I said "No." She said,

MOM

Do you like boys?

MAN

I said "No." She said,

MOM

Do you want to kiss boys?

MAN

No!

MOM

On the lips?

MAN

NO!

MOM

Are you lying to me?

Pause.

MAN

And I didn’t say anything. She slapped me–

MOM slaps him.

And said,

MOM

God help you if you are. People like that die before they’re twenty, and their souls get trapped in a muddy sea of disembodied faces. Millions of blood-soaked voices are crying out all around you. You’re to blame. You’re to blame. Crying for help. Crying to be saved. Crying to escape their paralysis. You can’t see whose face is next to yours, whose headless body is walking around a mile away. All you see is God’s foot when he steps on your nose, places oily fingernails on the corner of your mouth and rips those lips right off so you look like THIS (shows) for the remainder of time in the world.

Pause.

MAN (now standing)

So she wrote me a new poem,

MOM

There once was a turkey named Pete

Who had the smelliest feet

One whiff of his toes

Through some hunter’s nose

And a hamburger he’d rather eat.

MAN

She got an A on the assignment.

MOM

Yesss!!!

MAN

I’m really sorry that I keep going on about her. I…I really kind of really like you Kate and maybe if you don’t mind me not being as smart as maybe you’d–

MOM

What’re you doing?

 

MAN

Nothing. I was just talking to this girl. She’s Kate.

 

MOM

No you’re not, you’re coming with me.

MAN

Mom please, I want to do this! I mean I’m being romantic and intentional and SHE’S A GIRL and–

MOM

Oh dear. Ohhhh dear no. No there won’t be any slipping away from mama. No slipping away from mama. (tugging) Come on, honey, for old times sake.

She sits in a rocking chair as the MAN snuggles into her lap, she cradling him. A few moments pass. He scratches at her chest.

MOM

Oh jeez, do I have to remind you every time?

She pulls out her breast and places the MAN’s mouth around it. She breastfeeds him as a few moments pass.

MOM

If you were just a little more independent…if you were just a little more romantic…

The lights slowly fade to black as they continue to slowly rock…and rock…and rock…

THIS SCRIPT IS COPYRIGHTED MATERIAL AND MAY NOT BE DOWNLOADED, TRANSMITTED, PRINTED OR PERFORMED WITHOUT THE EXPRESS PERMISSION OF THE AUTHOR


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