First Draft, Final Draft

by Hayden Taylor

 

James sits down at the table.

 

JAMES: Well, I’ve got a couple minutes. That should be just enough time.

 

James begins to write.

 

JAMES: Jim Morrision, Kurt Cobain and now James Ladubski. The crimson wake of tragedy continues. I hate to break it to you, World, but you just lost a visionary, a truly magnificent soul. A gentle, modest, remarkable man—me, James Ladubski. But why should you care—what is a diamond to a bunch of stupid monkeys? Roll in you monkey shit, World! East those shit covered bananas, see if I care. I won’t have to watch you do it. I’m sorry that I’m not as stupid as all of you, but you see, I’m just a little different, I have couple little things that you may not be familiar with, a couple little things called a brain and a soul. Try that on for size!

 

I am a poet, but I’m afraid you never recognized my gift. All you saw was the shy, homely kid drowning his sorrows in the back of the dark arcade. You never gave me a chance, nope. And you might say, “where are all your poems?” Ha! That’s a stupid question—why would I ever share my brilliance with all you nincompoops. Besides I  already told you that you stifled me so much that I could never even start to tap my muse, my inner well of beauty.—[ooh, that’s a good line.]

 

Hey, and you know what? I’m glad I punched that screen on Cyber Racers 4. I hope it costs lots of money to fix. Who’s laughing now? Ha, that’s right: me. –Besides, the colors were totally faded and you needed to replace it anyway.

 

To reiterate my point, Stupid World: Goodbye. Enjoy those shit covered bananas. When you get a chance, take a look on what you turned you back on.

 

Yes, the crimson wake of tragedy continues. But first, I’ll leave you with just a couple drops of my musings, though I’m sure you’ll never really understand them. Enjoy. Oh, and excuse me if they’re still just first drafts, I guess I didn’t really have time to revise. Spell check them yourselves, bitches.

 

This first one is to that bitch, Chelsea, I’ll see you in hell. It’s called “The Earth Was Dancing with Fear” or “Your Spirit Announced the Death of the World.”

 

Chelsea

Her spirit was a bell, and it said to my eye:

(He reads in a high voice, imitating a girl.)

Since everyone sucks as much as me, you might as well die.

(Voice normal again.)

It shouts, rings out, says “pray to the Lord”

Guess what, slut, you’ve got a nice ass, but you’re as flat as a board!

I was a nice guy, but you didn’t want to dance.

You told me to get lost, and then you fucked Lance.

Chelsea

Her name, her spirit, her face is a bell,

Chelsea, you dumped me, I’ll see you in hell.

 

Now, let’s try a little free verse, if you dummies can understand a poem that doesn’t rhyme.

 

 

“The Soul of the Weeping Flower”

 

Oh! Lament, Daffodil, why do you bow your head down.

Wipe away those bitter tears for I will—

 

MOM (offstage, interrupting): Jimbo! Wash up, ok—dinner’s ready!

 

(James tenses and glares in the direction of the voice. Then he returns to work.)

 

JAMES: Uhh! I’ll be down in a minute. And I told you to call me James!

 

…wipe away those bitter tears for I will soothe you, my fragrant beauty.

And if you can’t wipe them away, I’ll drink you sweet tears.

And I’ll comb your petals, Daffodil.

Oh! You wilt. Such is life, dear love. But how can I bear these losses?

Dear! I wilt, too.

I wilt, too.

 

One more for you, World. This is the last you’ll hear from me.

 

MOM: Jimbo! Hurry up, sweetie. I need you to finish eating quick tonight. Darren has Judo practice and I need you to drive him.

 

JAMES: Okay, mom. Jesus! Can’t I have a little minute to myself?!

 

MOM: Hey, if don’t complain about, I’ll let you drive the Mitsubishi, alright! And don’t back talk me, young man.

 

JAMES: Uhh! This last one is called “Like the Sharpest Knife.”

 

Simple, short

I’ll tell you my message

You slayed me in the fort,

The fort of your ignorance.

I spit on you, from my grave.

That’s right, from my grave I’ll spit on your grave.

 

JAMES: I can feel it start. I sure am glad I finished writing those last thoughts.

 

James falls forward onto the table, immobile.

 

MOM: Jimbo! You don’t have all day, sugar. Get down here.

pause

MOM: Jimbo!

 

Mom walks onstage. She sees James and screams, horrified.

 

She wails for a few seconds then reads the note. Her sobbing subsides.

 

After a moment of silence, she begins to laugh, covers her mouth to stifle it.

 

MOM: “The crimson wake of tragedy continues.”

 

She can’t control herself and cracks up, building for a couple seconds, clapping her hands a couple times.

 

LIGHTS OUT

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Kurt Cobain, Jim Morrison. Now James Ludubski. Add me to your list, World. You’ll be sorry when I’m gone.

 

mom comes in>horrified (to be acted as well as possible), then she sees the note. She picks it up, starts reading it and laughs a few times, covering her mouth.

 

remember interruptions from mom, maybe also a little brother or sister (or just mention them, how they need boy to drive them to judo practice or something.)

 

 

use direct contradictions to help establish humorous circumstance>keep audience from taking any line too seriously.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I wrote this poem for you

-a series of poems instead? that way you can add an address and explanation in front of each

 

 

who is the writer?

 

middle school

gamer?

angry about girl trouble?

son of divorce—lives with mom

upper middle class