Monday, June 2, 2008

Afternoon Delight (and prologue)

Well, here we are. A bit of background for anyone reading this who wasn't directly involved: during the 2008 Orlando Fringe, we did this. The results were just over 100 poems, written in about 20-25 minutes on average. We can therefore be forgiven for about 1/3 of them. Customers gave us the title as well as 3 words to be used anywhere in the poem. On most occassions, I wouldn't be able to tell you what those words were. It was confusing enough writing these things, much less keeping tabs on those little order forms. Next year, I'll bold the words like we were able to do in a minority of cases (let's hear it for Paul's relative sobriety.) On most of them though, it's your guess (or if you're author, feel free to leave a comment and tell me).

Anyway. If I have my druthers, they're all going up here. The good, the bad and the toilet paper. The subjects, as you might imagine from poems written at a theater festival, range from sex to love to money. Usually in that order. So let's start with the former, from the booth's own Barry White, Paul:


Afternoon Delight

Let me take you away from here
the way the wind is blowing through your clothes
makes me think about what I could be doing

Hands slipping on damp skin
fingers clutching hair
both long and short
legs rubbing in ways you usually buy toys for
breath rushing so fast that your voice turns to honey
sheets tossed away
box springs strained
just because we won’t escape gravity doesn’t mean we can’t try

The wet repetition of slap slap slapping skin
rhythmless, without time
maybe we’ll trick reality and fall out of it
existence marked only by the scratches on my back
saliva slicked in forbidden crevices
lips suffused with anticipation
hearts near explosion
but before they get the chance
we do

Sliding back into the world
finding ourselves on the floor
a ribbon wrapped around your wrist
the quick gasps that sound like laughter
you start feeling buttons from jeans pushing into you
and a chill from evaporating sweat
So sticky it’ll take several Q-tips to clean

And then I’ll grab some bread
with a grin on my face
and offer you a sandwich
It’s almost dinner time now
we’ll need fuel for later.


Anonymous said...

Well this one was interesting as the girl couldn't think of sex words to put in her poem, so she had a guy at the beer tent do it for her. And he chose honey, bread, and (obviously) Q-tip. I think she liked how it came out.

Tod Caviness said...

Not the first time that happened. It's funny how guys will get very self-consciously flowery or bland when asked by girls for sexy vocab. (Don't know where q-tip came from, though.) Whereas girls will get full-on nasty.