On the Job Training
They ask, "Do you work?"
I just mumble and hum.
And wait for the look
That invariably comes.
It's hard to explain
How I got in this state.
My energy's drained.
My mind wanders of late.
I've developed a squint.
My posture is stooped.
I'm like an old hen,
Kept too long in a coop.
But I won't leave my desk!
Prospects couldn't be brighter.
They say, "Oh, you're a typist."
I say, no.
I'm a writer.
So, the 2nd staged reading of AN UNTETHERED WOMAN was last night and it went well.
I was worried that no one would come even after I accosted complete strangers on the streets of Helena asking, "Do you like community theater?" then giving them a postcard-sized invitation to the play no matter what they said.
The space in the Myrna Loy Theater was set up for 40 with me pacing back and forth, programs in hand, asking, "where is everybody?" Up until about five minutes to performance when we had a bit of an overflow crowd.
