DC Playwrights

after his third mojito,
second pilgrimage to the shell shack
and sleeveless t-shirt shoppe,
squirrel asked:
“how long have we been in florida?”

“two days,” i said.
“feels like two months,”
replied the squirrel.

“i guess that’s why retirees come here.”
i explained.
“when you only have about ten years left,
it’ll feel like fifty.”*

(*attribution: kitty giorgio)

a ten-day salute to sausage
announced the beer cup.
“the best fest is the wurstfest,”
mumbled the squirrel.

i never knew a rodent
could eat so much bratwurst.

after the third or fourth polka band
in das grosse zelt,
catching his breath between
the chicken dance and
gobbling down a wurst taco,
squirrel said,
“i think i'm ready to invade poland.”

squirrel put up signs
on the trees and poles in the park.
“have you seen my mind?”
the sign read.
“gray with gyrus and sulcus.
about the size of a walnut.”

“did you lose it
or simply misplace it?”
i asked sympathetically.

“are you asking in
cognitive ethological terms?”
queried the squirrel.
“no, comparative neurobiological,”
i replied.

“because if you’re merely
having trouble with spatial memory,
like trying to remember
where you left your keys –”
“or nuts,” interrupted the squirrel.

“i can’t fly this itinerary,”
said the squirrel.
“but it’s a direct flight,”
i told him.

“i just can’t fly from ronald reagan
to george bush.
i’ll get nauseous on the plane –
probably throw up.”

“maybe we can do a lay-over in atlanta,
but it’ll drive the cost up?” i said.
“i am not flying the route as is,”
sulked the squirrel.

six hundred dollars later,
we flew from jfk
to sam giancona international,
rented a car, and drove the rest of the way.

splayed out on a bathmat,
squirrel said,
“it’s called the prefiguration of the king.”

“i don’t see it.”
sure i saw the pills,
the sequined-covered bathrobe
hanging from the hook,
the half-eaten, deep-fried
peanut butter banana sandwich.

just then a diane arbus-looking art student
walked in and started talking
apertures, ev ranges,
and something about her af illuminator.

“sounds great,” i said,
“but you’re not gonna make
the squirrel look stupid, are you?”

choking back the tears,
as he placed a bouquet of flowers
by the lamppost, squirrel said,
“this is where they stole my bicycle.”

“that bicycle was stolen 13 years ago.
besides you hardly rode that bike.”
“it’s a wound that never heals,”
muttered the squirrel.

“come to think of it,
i don’t think you ever rode that bike once.
i am the one who
left it here when i went inside
to pick up junot diaz’s new book.”

“it’s gonna be a mild winter,”
said the squirrel.
“global warming,” i replied.

‘we also had a mild summer,”
squirrel noted.
“is that global warming, too?”

“global warming means
whatever i choose it to mean.
neither more nor less.”

“question is,” asked the squirrel,
“whether you can make words
mean so many different things?”

“when i make a word
do a lot of work like that,”
i declared, “i always pay it extra.”

“global warming is two words,”
said the squirrel

“then i am really getting a good deal.”

“sword and pistol by his side?”
squirrel asked.
“uh huh,” i said.
“uh huh.”

“i don’t know if i should be more upset,”
said the squirrel,
“about the interspecies miscegenation
or by the fact that amphibians
are walking around armed to the gills.”

"what sort of values
are we teaching our children?”
i asked the squirrel.
“oh, right, you don’t have any children.”
“none that i know about,” he added.

“how do you want to die?”
asked the squirrel.
“curious or are you pre-meditating again?
’cause pre-meditating will get you life –“
“yeah, i know,” interrupted the squirrel.
“crime of passion, eight to ten.”

“well, not that i want to be defenestrated,
but i have this recurring dream,” i said.
“defenestrated? what does that mean?”
interrupted the squirrel again.

“it means being killed
by being thrown through a window,” i explained.
“happens a lot in nineteenth century russian novels.”

squirrel called the front desk for towels.
a man answered and said,
“i will send the boy.”
squirrel waited ten minutes
and called the front desk again.
the man answered and said,
“i told you, i will send the boy.”

after thirty minutes,
squirrel went to the front desk
where he saw a stack of towels.
behind the desk was a man
reading a newspaper.

squirrel said,
“i called about the towels.”
the man insisted,
“i will send the boy.
he will bring them.”
squirrel returned to the room
without the towels.