Party Animals Don't Get Rained Out, The Tempest in Two Parts
By Justin Karcher
Part One
A summer picnic with friends
at the top of the hill
iambic drunkenness before sunset
slurring our sonnets
over plates of hummus
James making his way
through an entire bag of Bugles
hungry mosquitoes
landing on cheesy runways
we don’t mind the attention
there’s enough blood to go around
we’re ready for some Shakespeare
Prospero conjuring monsters out of thin air
Melissa’s flying to Iceland tomorrow
gray clouds everywhere
rain in the forecast
umbrellas next to boxes of wine
I wish everyone would just take their umbrellas
and stab the ground, so they stand upright
like tall flowers or statues in a cemetery
it’s definitely going to rain
I just think it’d be cool, a forest of umbrellas
something new, foliage that feasts on thunder
dogs digging holes and burying lightning bones
meanwhile, actors in trailers
are getting into their costumes
Eric’s talking about how he almost got into
a fistfight at Gene McCarthy’s
to pass the time before they cancel the show
we start scouring the program
looking for the crossword puzzle
which is usually there
no crossword puzzle though, just a word search
and, honestly, we’re all a little too hazy in the eyes
to find words that matter
then there’s the announcement
the play’s about to start
but right as the actors hit the stage
it starts to rain
then a couple more announcements
the play will be cancelled
a flooded stage, someone could get hurt
an innovative three-minute adaptation of The Tempest
perfect for millennial consumption
you get the storm (real rain!)
the ship crash, a monologue, the end
people running to their cars
Carly invites everyone to our place
to finish off the wine and never go to bed
I’ll come back next week
Part Two
One week later…
when I arrive, the VIPs are already drunk
sitting atop a mountain of Barefoot Wine
all those tiny bottles
red, white, it doesn’t matter
it’s actually quite beautiful
the way the sunset bounces off the glass
it’s the kind of light I like eating
the kind of light that shipwrecks your navy
the kind of light that creates islands out of nothing
the language of Shakespeare pairs well with deliberate drunkenness
anyway, when they’re out of cheap summertime blackouts
the VIPs climb down their shiny mountain
and make their way to the large tent
to get more booze, maybe some food
some of them circle around
the tray of Wegmans subs
like a soliloquy of vultures
talking amongst themselves
it’s all very private
but also a threat to public safety
the man nearby
his phone rings
and he doesn’t know how to answer
so he fiddles around with it for a few seconds
and when he finally figures it out
the caller is on speaker
and they loudly talk for a couple minutes
and from the sounds of it
that man’s gonna need some of Prospero’s magic
to fix his roof, he doesn’t seem to care though
it’s okay
because we’re all carefree monsters
party animals this time of the year
we know we’re trapped on an island
and maybe that island is Buffalo
maybe it’s the whole Rust Belt
maybe it’s the idea of America
maybe we’re trying to unshackle something in our lives
maybe that’s why so many people are laughing at Caliban right now
maybe he’s a mirror, they shouldn’t be laughing though
because he’s a tragic figure
maybe I’m looking at it too deeply
after all, the couple next to me
have already broken three wine glasses
they haven’t even bothered to pick up
all the pieces, so I find myself staring at the glistening
in the grass throughout the show and I wanna scream out
“Hey, pick up your sloppiness
lots of people walk around barefoot here”
but I don’t say anything
I myself am trapped on an island of lazy indifference
where most of the time, I’m looking for a little bit of magic
to shake things up— always looking all around me
for spirits tiptoeing through the air, hoping they have long hair
that they whip around like a tidal wave or tempest
and all that dandruff drifts toward us like antidepressant mosquitoes
may they suck the sad out of all of us here tonight
may they leave bites on our limbs that are more like doorways
and when we look down to see what itches
whole new worlds open before our very eyes
it’s dark now, still the sound of bug spray all around me
a symphony of not wanting to be touched by the world around you
I wanna scream out, “Let the world bite you, it’s a beautiful night”
because isn’t that what the play is all about?
having that itch, wanting that itch
but learning how not to be an asshole about it
encourage everyone to fight for their freedom
encourage everyone to let love sweep them off their feet
don’t let shipwrecks define who you are
but don’t ignore that you’re broken either
the play is over, now the applause