DC Playwrights

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?”

“addiction’s a serious thing,”
i added.
“i just want to make sure
you’re taking the subject seriously.”

“whatever,” she said.
“don’t mind him,” remarked the squirrel.
“he’s just jealous that he didn’t think of it first.”

perhaps the squirrel had something there.
i silently slipped away
and started reading up on robert goulet
and wondered where i’d put those ren fair costumes.