Friday, August 22, 2014

The casting of Belle by Scrooge

It is a Monday,
Simply think of a room, all chocking with schoolgirls,
ankle high socks, hair tied back and polished black shoes
no phones, no accessories, no make-up,
definitely no boyfriends behind walls nor improper laughter
part of the school rules, high commands.
Late morning, the girls' buzz rises steady as a rundown Xerox machine
all repeating line after line, the same photocopies of lines
like a bee stuck in a glass bottle,
each to her wavelength, an assertion of territory
enough space for female hormones and last minute angst driven nerves.
Out of the room, a line. She among the holders of papers
the hoarders of other lines, brisks ahead to the wooden plank
Belle is her goal, she steadies her soles
reckons she'll be the school's star
the ground tremors with faint whispers, dark magic and teen jealousy,
under her breath a pillow of stones, of things she collects from the world for luck
Recite, but some verbs chock her
recite and the lab keys clink, hit the floor loud with roaring laughter
of other females, relentless tigresses
the show must go on but some lines taste bitter onto her palette,
a rush of brain-freeze.
She rushes to finish,
Scrooge, the middle name of her torturer, marker with red pens
the woman behind the highest pitched laugh
pins the names onto the board, to her it must be
Belle, young, rich and central
she is going to be a star,
nearly an actress
but Scrooge turns over to her and says
spend less on make-up, your acne is perfect for the leper. 

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