"Musical Chairs" by Mark S.P. Turvin
Copyright 1989, 1993-Mark S.P. Turvin and Goldfish Publishers

Characters:
	1 - A person outside of their surroundings.
	2 - A person who's blind to their surroundings.
	3 - A person trapped and moulded by their surroundings.
	4 - A person in tune with their surroundings.
	5 - A person in control of their surroundings.
	The Master of Ceremonies (Emcee) - The voice of the surroundings.
	The Audience - Basically, the surroundings.

Setting:
	A bare stage, save for five dining room chairs lined up in a row. To LCS  there is a podium upon which there is a Compact Disc player. There are three entrances;  USR, CSR, and DSR.

Place:
	Paradise Valley, AZ: an affluent suburb of Phoenix.

Time:
	Anytime after W.W. II.

Notes:
	The Audience should be lit somehow, since they will have to be 
seen during the voting sequences. It is best not to allow too much of a 
differentiation between audience and stage to further enhance the 
connection that is wanted between performers and Audience.
	Each character should be dressed according to their 'type' as 
though they have been invited to a party. So, too, The Emcee should be 
dressed in this way, preferably in black.

			Prologue


The "Musical Chairs Theme Music" is heard. It is rushing and bouncy, 
like a game show's music. The lights come up on the entrance of The 
Emcee.

			Announcer (V.O.)
Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to another evening of 
Musical Chairs. This evening's game is brought to you by Lattie Coor and 
the Board of Regents at Arizona State University‹"A.S.U., if we charge 
as much as a private institution, maybe people will mistake us for one." 
Also sponsoring tonight's festivities are our great friends at Thistle 
Catering‹"For any occasion when it really platters!" And now, ladies and 
gentlemen, our Master of Ceremonies...

			The Emcee
	(Enters USL, goes to C:  says most of his lines like a game show
	 host, in the spirit of Alex Trebeck)
Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. Thank you very much. We welcome you 
this evening to this luxurious house precariously straddling the border 
of Scottsdale and Paradise Valley. I want to thank you all for joining 
us this evening, and now it's time to bring in tonight's contestants. 
	(Beat)
First, a new face among our set, a college-dropout and drifter from Los 
Angeles, California, let's hear a nice round of applause for Number One!
	(1 steps in from the audience area and sits in the first chair)
Next, you've seen this young ladies parents around here, but this is her 
first time at one of our functions, she's responsible for bringing 
Number One to tonight's party, a sophomore at Arizona State University 
majoring in Creative Writing and Philosophy, let's welcome Number Two!
	(2 steps in from the audience area and sits in second chair)
Great, and now, a constant fixture at our parties, but taking part for 
the first time in our competition, an Associate Professor of Creative 
Writing and American Literature at Arizona State University, let's hear 
it for Number Three!
	(3 steps in from the audience area and sits in third chair)
Nice to finally have you up here. A battle-scarred veteran of our game 
and the host of tonight's soiree, he's a self-made land developer who 
runs a prestigious firm on Camelback, give it up for Number Four!
	(4 steps in from the audience area and sits in fourth chair)
And where would we be without our final contestant, the hostess of 
tonight's bash and a fixture of parties and games throughout the valley 
of the sun, let's show our appreciation to Number Five! 
	(5 steps in from the audience area and sits in fifth and final 
	 chair. Music out)
Well, these are our gameplayers for the evening, ladies and gentlemen. 
	(Beat)
As always, we'll have our contestants answer a question posed to them 
for your consideration. The first question of the evening will 
be..."What's wrong?"

			Scene 1
			What's Wrong?

			1
There isn't much determination left in the world. Men and women have 
taken a back seat in destiny. It used to be our car. We used to sit in 
the driver's seat, grip the steering wheel, push down on the 
accelerator. Even jammed down on the brake when we wanted to. We had the 
keys, given to us by God. "Dad?", "Of course, My child."
	(Chuckles , pause)
No more. Now, we've gripped a television firmly between both hands, 
raised it way over our heads, and let it drop on 'em, crash.
	(Pause)
Well, some have used a television. Others use their idols to beat 
themselves into submission. Still others use clocks.
	(Pause)
Me, I used a clock.
	(Long pause)
You know, I would probably still be maiming myself with Big Bens, 'cept 
this stupid thing was told to me while I was at another dinner party 
remarkably like this one. It was then that I knew, just from this stupid 
story, that we'd all climbed into the back of the hearse that we call 
destiny and let Fate take the wheel.
	(Pause)
Oh, yeah, the story. It's not very nice. I can't for the life of me 
remember how this guy had gotten onto this subject in the first place. I 
know, beforehand, I would never have talked about it in the setting of a 
dinner party.
	(Short pause)
Of course, I'm glad this guy did.
	(Pause)
He told me about this guy who had been arrested for a crime he didn't 
commit. Murder, I think. Or something. They locked him up in Attica. In 
a cell. They put him in this out of the way cell, and they put him in a 
straight jacket, 'cause he was very upset. Like I said, he didn't do it.
	(Pause)
Well, anyway, a day or so later--they'd forgotten about him--somebody 
was reminded that he was there, 'cause they found the guy who'd really 
done this crime. He confessed, I think. So they went down, all 
embarrassed and apologetic, to let him out. When they opened his cell, 
they found that he'd killed himself in the only way that was left to 
him. He'd rammed his head against a cinder block wall 24 times.
	(Pause)
The doctors found it "very interesting."  He should have, by all rights, 
been unconscious after cracking the top of his skull just a few times, 
but he kept sliding back up the wall, stumbling back to the center of 
the cell, and running forward once more. When he slammed the top of his 
head against the wall the twenty-fourth time, just as his skull 
splintered into his cerebrum just enough, he died. He was dead even 
before he hit the concrete floor.
	(Introspectively)
In fact, he may have been dead even before he hit the wall.
	(Pause)
That's what I think. This guy at the other dinner party ended his story 
with the idea that he was dead before he hit the floor. But I could 
personally see him already dead at about the twentieth time. I mean, he 
was so determined to die, I could see his body, wanting to finish what 
it had started, not even noticing until about four times later that it 
had, in fact, succeeded.
	(Pause)
Well, that's determination. There was a man who knew what he wanted. He 
didn't let any obstacle stand in his way, like the straight-jacket, his 
unconsciousness, anything.
	(Pause)
I don't think anyone I know, even myself before I heard the story, would 
have the guts... 
	(Pause)
No, I don't think it's guts... 
	(Pause)
Belief in themselves to follow through with their aspirations. Not these 
days.

			2
There's something inherently wrong with the world. I mean, the people 
that populate it. We've always put a distance between ourselves and our 
fellow men. We've created words and ideas that have been used like 
blockades and walls. All of the 'isms' given to us but the politicians 
and the meanings preached to us by the philosophers. And yet, with all 
of the crap that has filled our ears and loaded us with hate, 
occasionally, there have been voices that have been able to pierce the 
pointlessness. Oftentimes, the sounds were so pure, the music so full of 
love, the only way that we could handle them was to put these loving 
muses to death.
	(Pause)
Usually violently. Like Christ, or Martin Luther King, or Gandhi.
	(Pause)
Or else, they'd become so discouraged by the scene, they'd get out a 
little earlier than expected. You know, like Woolf, Plath, or Van Gogh. 
But there's one thing that I keep thinking about, even with all of this 
against us, and that's that, through the existence of these loving 
people, and even through their horrible deaths, there still is proof 
that, like that poor young woman said in a secret attic in Amsterdam in 
1944, "Despite all that has happened, I still believe that people are 
truly good at heart."
	(Pause)
It is true, isn't it?  All of us have that goodness inside of us, even 
if it is just the tiniest of glimmers.
	(Pause)
I guess I'm digressing a bit, but tying that in with what I meant to 
answer, what's wrong with the world today is our deepest irreverent need 
not to see this goodness in those that we wish to hate. That's contrary 
to everything that those wonderful seers have tried to tell us.
	(Pause)
I mean, if we stopped trying to fight our natural feelings of empathy, 
there wouldn't be much need for psychologists and generals and ad 
executives in the world. Would it be that bad to put these people out of 
work, if it meant that there was at least that much more goodness in the 
world?  
	(Beat)
I don't mean to get too deep and demanding at a dinner party and all, 
but these are things that have to be said.
	(Pause)
Right?

			3
What's wrong is this setting. It's all wrong. A dinner party. Forced 
gaiety. Okay guys and girls, it's time to turn on the charm and gather 
together with the knowledge that our host and hostess have brought 
together only the créme de la créme; and have taken extraordinary pains 
not to let in the riff raff and the rejects. How can anyone stomach 
selectivity?  I mean, doesn't that smack of Big Brother and the Master 
Race?  
	(Beat)
Okay, so a dinner party is seemingly not that bad. I mean, you don't 
exactly have telescreens and ovens everywhere, but it's the start. It's 
what breeds that type of thinking.
	(Pause)
Figure this. Your hosts already have the who and when and what and 
where. All of these things have been carefully seen to. Especially the 
who.
	(Affected voice, sounding like 4 and 5)
"Oh, but of course, we couldn't even think of so and so. Not after that 
terrible ruckus that they caused last time." and "But, we simply must  
have whatchamacallit. Having them at a party would simply be a coup !"  
Okay, tough luck for those who aren't invited. The worst that will 
happen to them is their missing a boring party and having a few knives 
in their backs, compliments of their "friends."
	(Pause)
Now, you've got to consider the factionalism that happens at the best of 
functions. One section of the room will separate from the other quicker 
than oil and water. At some points, there may even be as many clicks at 
the party as you have invited guests.
	(Pause)
Well, that's only at the very worst. 
	(Beat)
Whatever, there will inevitably be sags and pockets in the carpet into 
which the appropriate people will sink. What you have now is no 
different from a war zone, except the maiming you get here may result in 
the loss of your membership card at the club, or it may even go so far 
as a permanent loss of your invitation, and a few knives in the back in 
addition. Heaven forbid.
	(Pause)
I always sit to the side of these things and watch and listen. Nothing 
but a fly on the wall. I've watched and seen people's reputations ripped 
with a smile. I've seen friend turned against friend, and love affairs 
rot like overripe fruit. And after spitting their poison, the little men 
and little women drink some more tea and nibble on their crumpets 
awaiting the next siege. It's a microcosm of the whole, it's one tiny 
molecule in the monster of hate.
	(Pause)
What's worse, even with this insight into the jagged mechanisms of these 
parties, I return. After all, I'm here to chart them. I'm Thucydides, 
Vonnegut and Orwell all rolled into one. The way I figure it is, as long 
as there's some semblance of sanity within, there still will be some 
control.

			4
There's nothing wrong. A lot of people try to convince the world that 
there's something wrong, but there really isn't. People, and just a few 
at that, try to convince everyone that we're all inherently bad. That 
we're evil.
	(Short pause)
I don't believe it. No one should. All in all, I figure that if we were, 
then we wouldn't have so many basically good people surrounding us. Just 
look a the guests at this party. Oh, sure, you have your usual 
malcontents. The ones who are stirring things up so that, when they've 
raked all of the muck up from the bottom and have fouled everyone's 
eyesight, they can claim to see the light and demand that everyone 
follow them. Fortunately, there are those of us that can see through 
that B.S. and can either ignore them or, if they start to cause any real 
troubles, simply not invite them back. But, beyond those people, the 
rest are good. We're all together, having fun and discussing important 
things, and...just being together. We're happy. 
	(Beat)
Evil people can't be happy. They're too busy doing evil things.
	(Pause)
The good people that I've gathered together wouldn't think of doing evil 
things. There are those people, those malcontents, that will harumph 
about a little innocent gossip. But we all do it.
	(Beat)
Even them. I'd like one of them to deny that.
	(Pause)
I've made sure to bring these good people together, leaving out the 
dangerous ones--the ones who would love to spread their malice to all of 
us--and brought them together into the ideal setting, where happiness 
and fun can abound. What's wrong with that?
	(Pause)
Right now, I'd like you to look around this room, and show me one 'evil' 
person. Show me someone who is filled with nothing but malice and hate. 
Someone who wants to do nothing more than spoil everyone's happiness for 
his or her lacking. If you do manage to find one person at this party 
that fits the description I've just given you, then I've no doubt that 
the person you've found is nothing more than that malcontent I've told 
you about, wanting to smash the framework of fun and enjoyment because 
of their basic inability to take part in it. Find me that person, show 
them to me. See if that person ever gets invited back. I won't let my 
friends and neighbors be poisoned by that way of thinking.
	(Pause)
Maybe I'm a bit too overprotective about the entire affair, but I know 
what I'm dealing with. What could possibly be wrong with that?

			5
Of course there's something wrong. It's this party. It's all wrong. 
After everything that I've done to make it a success, it seems to be 
falling apart. They're all not meshing  the way that they're supposed 
to. It's all wrong.
	(Pause)
I, personally, have been the hostess of thousands  of successful dinner 
parties, and feel qualified to make that statement. There has to be a 
certain, 
	(Searches for word)
I don't know, feeling  in the air. A je ne saîs quoi, as it were. It's 
not here. There are far too many clumps at this party. Perhaps the guest 
list was spread far too thin across the kinds. That's a definite 
possibility. Or, perhaps it's the hors d'oeuvres. Still, I have the 
awful feeling that this party is doomed to fall by the wayside. It's 
such a pity, too. After all of the work that I've done to see that 
everything meshes the way it's always supposed to at a brilliant bash.
	(Pause)
What on earth  can it be?
	(The Emcee walks to her, mimes that they're holding a serving
	 tray. She mimes taking an hors d'oeuvres from it, popping it into
	 her mouth. With extreme concentration, she chews, then, 
	 decisively)
No, it's not what I'm serving, that's fine.
	(She sends The Emcee away, who bows then returns to the
	 podium. She puts two and two together)
Then it simply must be the guests themselves. It is  possible to have 
the perfect dinner party--believe me, I've both been to some and, 
modesty aside, I've been the hostess at a few. It's all a matter of 
skill and balance. The list would have to be considered for all possible 
incongruities. Making sure, for instance, as I had to at this party, not 
to invite the O'Caseys and the Abercromby's, or the Von Dreele's and the 
Klein's. 
	(Beat)
In fact, it's just not wise to invite the Klein's to pretty much 
anything, unless it's catered and kosher.
	(Laughs daintily, then pauses, considering "political 
correctness."
	 Seriously)
That was just a joke, of course.
	(Pause)
But, back to what I was talking about, skill and balance. You have to 
remember the theme, and most importantly, you have to weigh the 
personalities.
	(Pause)
Why, it's almost an art. To do this sort of thing has to be creatively  
handled.
	(Pause. She gets excited by the prospect)
And you must have complete control, up until the point when the guests 
arrive; and while their first getting used to the surroundings, you've 
got to manipulate them a bit, just so they'll settle into the right 
mood. You know, with the music and the colors of the table cloths and 
napkins.
	(Pause)
But this one doesn't seem to be going right at all. Whatever  could I 
have done wrong?

			Transition
			Scene A

			The Emcee
Okay, that was great. Before we send you off for our next section, let's 
find out a bit about each of you.
	(Pause, looking at a card on the podium)
Uhh, Number One, it says here that you've held down a succession of 
meaningless jobs since you left U.C.L.A. What was you major there?

			1
Business.

			The Emcee
And where have you been recently?

			1
Here and there.

			The Emcee
Are you planning on staying in Phoenix for awhile.
	(1 shrugs)
Why did you leave college?
	(1 growls at The Emcee, quickly)
Okay, then, and, Number Two, apparently you've had several different 
majors since starting college.

			2
That's right.

			The Emcee
Such as?

			2
Well, I first went in for Religious Studies, but the scales fell from my 
eyes when I took a course in Sociology. I stayed in Sociology until I 
saw that it was just another form of Religion. I tried Psych, and again 
found the same thing. I was going to drop out when I took a Creative 
Writing class from Number Three, here. He/She really helped me discover 
my inner need to create.

			The Emcee
Are you certain that these two will remain your final choices?

			2
You never can tell. I imagine my parents won't put up with too many more 
years in college, though.

			The Emcee
Right. And, how long have you known Number One?

			2
We met at a party about two weeks ago. He's really very sweet under the 
surface. I know it. Don't you think so?

			The Emcee
And, uhh, Number Three, you're originally from the east. Why did you 
move out here?

			3
After I got my B.A.'s and M.A. from Mount Holyoke, I decided that I 
wanted to escape from the decay of the east coast. I figure that the 
country is falling apart around the edges. I'll just stay here until I 
have to move a little further inland.

			The Emcee
Mount Holyoke...isn't that where Number Four and Number Five got their 
degrees? 

			3
	(Looks disdainfully at 4)
Uhh, yes. We, we were classmates, in fact. 
	(Pause)
And, uhh, friends. We were
	(Beat)
friends, too.

			The Emcee
That's great. And, Number Four, we were all sorry about to hear about 
that little brush with the S.E.C...

			4
	(Cutting The Emcee off)
I thought we weren't going to discuss that. We agreed to that.

			The Emcee
Sorry. Quite an impressive guest list tonight. You must be proud to have 
collected this group together.

			4
I sure am, and I'm proud to call everyone here my friend...
	(Pause, looks at 3 and 1)
Well, almost everyone.

			The Emcee
Number Five. Thank you for opening your house tonight for this enjoyable 
evening of fun and games.

			5
The pleasure is all mine. 

			The Emcee
We can only hope that this is your most successful dinner party yet.

			5
I'm trying. You know just how hard I'm trying.

			The Emcee
We all do. Well, it's time for our contestants to exit. If you would 
please.
	(The five performers stand up simultaneously, exit USR. After
	 they have departed, The Emcee moves CS)
For those of you who may be joining our set for the first time, let me 
explain to you what it is that you will be doing. I will now be asking 
you to vote on the five people you've just heard speaking, subsequently,
	(Points to the appropriate chairs)
One, Two, Three, Four, and Five. What I ask you to do, very simply, is 
to raise your hand corresponding to the person whom you have liked the 
least of those you have just seen speaking. I repeat, it is the person 
whom you like the least for whom you will raise your hand. Now, for the 
following section, if you will please do as I have instructed.
	(Takes votes by standing behind the chair where each person has
	 sat)
Thank you very much. I will now begin the game.
	(Takes a chair, brings it CSL. Moves back to behind the podium)
All right, it's time!
	(Claps twice, and the performers come on as though they are 
	 excited children, while retaining their overall personalities.
	 They line up in front of the remaining chairs)
On your mark.
	(The group titters and squirms)
Get set!
	(The group does so. The Emcee will play the specific music that 
	 is to act as a warning of whom as been chosen, depending on the
	 song that is playing)
Go!
	(When the music has started, the group dances around the chairs
	 in a child-like manner. This goes on for some time, until the 	 
	 music stops. The person who has been chosen 'it' by the audience 
	 is shoved out of the group, That person, like a child, sticks 
	 their tongue out at the others, and skips off)
Now it is time for section two, which asks the question, "What's the 
truth?"

			Scene 2
			What's the Truth?


			1

There was this guy by the name of Donald W. Baker. He's a poet. Or he might have been one, I don't know whether he's alive anymore, but anyway, he wrote this poem that struck me as being really truthful, and tastefully done. I usually don't think too much about poetry; usually I'll find the truth in Jim Morrison or John Lennon, but this poem was just as good as any of those. Even better, because I felt like anyone could relate to it. It wasn't very high and mighty the way that I feel poetry usually is. It was called Formal Application, and there was this little quote above it. The quote was "The poets apparently want to rejoin the human race."  I liked that, 'cause it brought the writer down to my level, and didn't have him sitting on some mountain preaching to me. The quote, by the way, is from Time Magazine. The poem went like this:

	(Not using the end breaks, though they are duly noted)

I shall begin by learning to throw
the knife, first at trees, until it sticks
in the trunk and quivers every time;

next from a chair, using only wrist
and fingers, at a thing on the ground,
a fresh ant hill or a fallen leaf;

then at a moving object, perhaps
a pieplate swinging on twine, until
I pot it at least twice in three tries.

Meanwhile, I shall be teaching the birds
that the skinny fellow in sneakers
is a source of suet and bread crumbs,

first putting them on a shingle nailed
to a pine tree, next scattering them
on the needles, closer and closer
to my seat, until the proper bird,
a towhee, I think, in black and rust
and grey, takes tossed crumbs six feet away.

Finally, I shall coordinate
conditioned reflex and functional
form and qualify as Modern Man.

You see the splash of blood and feathers
and the blade pinning it to the tree?
It's called an "Audubon Crucifix."

The phrase has  pleasing (even pious)
connotations, like Arbeit Macht Frei,
"Molotov Cocktail," and Enola Gay.

	(Pause)

It's simple, straightforward, and, unlike most other poems that I've heard, it isn't all cramped with rhyme and that sort of thing. Oh, "Arbeit Macht Frei" is German for "Labor Liberates."  It's the slogan of the Nazi's. That I had to have explained to me, but the rest was really nice and obvious. I think there's even more truth in simplicity.


			2

So many people have said the truth, but we have not taken the time to really deeply understand it, and explore it. People like Ayn Rand, and Sylvia Plath,

	(Pause)

Langston Hughes. The real honest ones. One of my favorite poets is Robert Frost. When I was a child, I memorized by rote a poem of his that was entitled Nothing Gold Can Stay. Innocent as I was, I never understood the ironic tone that it contained. It went like this:

	(Recites it a bit childishly)

Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

	(Pause)

The last line, so far as I was concerned, was irrelevant. What mattered, more than anything, was that it was possible in the first place to have gold. It became a motto for me. Even when I went on, and saw the atrocities that had been, and still were being committed, I held onto that thought with all the strength I could.

	(Pause)

The amazing thing is, I'm nineteen already, and it still holds true for me, despite the things I've seen. Don't you understand?  It matters more that there can  be perfection in the world, and not its lack of durability. Doesn't it?


			3

What's the truth?  Well,

	(Sarcastically)

that's a real easy question to answer.

	(Honestly)

Come on, man has been try to answer that question for millions of years. What's your personal truth is a better way to ask that question. And that I can answer in the easiest way for me, by telling you a poem that I wrote that explains my position perfectly. It's entitled Darwinian Farces, and was inspired by a dinner party a lot like this one. First, there's an epigram, which states that "Friendships are the best measure of a man's worth."  That very intelligent statement was made by Charles Darwin himself. The poem begins, 

"But of course." I said
clutching the knife for dear life
and he flippantly tossed the comment
like a soldier his grenade.

I slid down the white linen table cloth,
my bloodstained hands leaving a trail.
Jamie's sarcastic daggers followed me,
though, by this point,
I was numb.

No matter what, there was plenty of
ammunition to go around the table.

I found the reverend was under the table already,
the wound in his throat looking ragged.
He never suspected that they knew,
and he paid the price for it.

I was hurt , but not down for the count.

Foster, with deadly accuracy, sliced his
rapier tongue through Miss Hanrahan's
virtue.

I leapt up, and thrust my hand through
his sternum; ripping his measly heart
out, and placidly munching on it,
as one does an apple.

Mrs. Warren quickly reprimanded me,
but it bounced off of my dinner jacket.
No fear. I'd be invited back.

	(Pause)

In fact, not only does that speak for my truth, but my fear and quest as well. All in one little poem.


			4

The truth?  Why, that's very simple. It's us. All of us here tonight. 

	(Beat)

But deeper than that, it's what we can do if we put our minds to it. We, as a collection, and as individuals. Especially as individuals, for that's what makes up the collective. Just look at societies accomplishments. Science, philosophy, and especially literature. So far as I'm concerned, literature tops the list, for it's the most intellectual thing we humans have been able to create.

	(Pause)

And poetry, of course, is even greater still. The organization and intelligence that goes into poetry is of an incredible caliber. That reminds me of a time when I was in college. I met this remarkable young man/woman,

	(Dependent on the sex of 3)

whom I became acquainted with. Soon, I found out that he/she was a writer, and I pleaded with him/her to read me some of his/her works. Begrudgingly, one day, he/she did, and I was amazed at his/her abilities.

	(Reflecting)

There was this one poem that I remember very distinctly from  all of his/her works. We sat up very late one night in his/her dorm room, and discussed all sorts of things, and he/she used this poem to make a point. I don't remember what he/she was trying to prove, but to this very day, I've kept a copy of the poem as he/she gave it to me. I have it right here.

	(Reaches into pocket, searching for a wallet. The Emcee comes up 
	 behind and offers it the wallet to 4, who then opens it and pulls out
	 a very old and folded piece of paper, which is unfolded and read
	 from)

It's called mementos. It goes, 

carelessly strewn about like
leaves after a spring storm
are they
and haphazardly i glance about
them
years passed over in a sweep

one hardly thinks of
their accumulation
while the times rush on
inevitably
they stack up tip over
largely unnoticed

but once in a great time
while sifting for
sanity
they catch attention
mock relentlessly by showing
how little is really of worth

	(Pause)

There was a lot about this poem that I really didn't understand, and yet, I could see the unshakeable truth that it held for this person. I could hear the screams of despair and misunderstanding and tell how much of the poet this poem contained. And even though I didn't understand it, I felt I knew him/her better through it. That's the ultimate truth.


			5

The truth?

	(Thinks awhile, then)

Well, I can't tell you the truth, exactly, but I can tell you an adorable little fact. Did you know that all of Emily Dickinson's poems, pretty much, all can be sung to the tune of "The Yellow Rose of Texas."  It's true. I think the best example of it is with the poem she has, the one where she talks about how she and death went for a little ride together. Let me see if I can remember it--

	(Sings)

Because I could not stop for death
He kindly stopped for me
The carriage held just him and me
and Immortality.

We slowly drove--he knew no haste
and I had put away
my labor and my leisure too
for his civility.

We passed the School, where children strove
At Recess in the Ring
We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain
We passed the setting sun.

	(Beat)

Well, I know that sun and ring don't even rhyme at all, but she is a classic. 

	(Resumes)

Or rather he passed us  

Okay, so sometimes the song doesn't fit it much either, but overallŠ  

	(Attempts to go on, and fails)

The dews drew quivering and chill
For only gossamer my Gown  

Okay, so it gets a little messed up there, but you get the idea. Isn't that just too funny?

			Transition
			Scene B


			The Emcee

That was a great round. Very astute answers, all of you. 

	(Talks to the people still in the game, excluding the person who
	 is already out)

So, Number One, where did you find that poem?

			1

In a book. I do read, you know.

			The Emcee

Didn't mean to imply anything. Number Two, why didn't you read us something that you wrote?

			2

I, uhh, I don't think that my writing is ready for this kind of setting. I, I don't knowŠ

			The Emcee

Modesty. Number Three, you wrote that poem? Who were all those people in it that you mentioned?

			3

Just characters from various George Bernard Shaw plays. Let's put it this way. The names have been changed to protect the innocent and guilty alike.

			The Emcee

I see. Well, c'mon Number Four, tell us who the author of that poem was.

			4

	(Glancing briefly to 3)

I'd really rather not.

			The Emcee

Suit yourself. Number Five, you never finished the poem.

			5

Well, you know, mustn't let things drag. This is a dinner party, after all.

			The Emcee

If the four contestants will please leave their seats. Thank you. 

	(They stand, then exit)

Ladies and gentlemen, I ask you once again to repeat the process you have begun. Of the four people that have spoken, I ask you to choose the one person who does not sound right. Who you might, in the least, disagree with, and, if you should wish to take it to the greatest degree possible,

	(Pause, then with mock horror)

despise. Simply raise your hand for that corresponding person.

	(Takes count)

Thank you all very much.

	(Takes a chair off, places it to the USR corner of the last chair
	 taken off. Claps twice, and the performers file on)

And now, once again, we're ready for the game. Ready. Set. Go!

	(Music once again plays, and the actions from the last transition
	 scene are repeated, with the same results)

Now in section three, those remaining will answer the question, "What can you do?"

TO BE CONTINUED...