Diane Kendig


Opens on a scene as sad and voyeuristic
as the monologue in the sex shop in Paris, Texas,
but it soon morphs into a tragedy deep as Lear’s,
another father carrying the body of the daughter he betrayed
or a son the voice told him to kill then didn’t tell him not to,
but then—and this must happen very slowly so as
not to be hokey— it’s a brave new world where
actors of every stripe get a role: a dwarf
gets a torch song not for laughs, the part
of a Native American is played by a Native American
and women are directing. Women of color are directing
and white guys and Asians and African Americans
are all acting themselves and not just in crowded scenes
or Lalaland choruses till suddenly, we have a rom-Com
with not just one couple and not all straight
or all gay or trans, but many couples fall
for each other, misunderstand, fall out,
but meet up, fall again, only harder, so hard
the only way out is through to that most
Shakespearean of resolutions: a wedding.
Only it’s a wedding like Monsoon Wedding
or no, a combo of that and Slumdog Millionaire
and Branagh’s Much Ado where thy all dance.
Then it’s morning again and just like
Picnic at Hanging Rock everyone goes off
on a hike dressed in Ernst Dryden white and is never
seen dancing again and people talk about
that ending forever, whether they fall off a cliff
or go on, in some endless Shangri-La.

1 comment:

The views and opinions expressed throughout belong to the individual artists and may or may not coincide with those of the other artists (or editors) represented within the magazine. Hobo Camp Review supports a free-for-all atmosphere of artistic expression, so enjoy the poetry, fiction, opinions, and artwork within, read with an open mind, and comment wisely. Thanks for stopping by the Camp!