Prize Poem

	Typical comprehensive school office. Stephen is a 
	headmaster. He looks worried. There is a knock at the 
	door. He looks up.


Stephen		Come.

	Enter Hugh.

		Ah, Terry, come in, come in.

Hugh		Thank you sir.

Stephen		Well now, do you know why I sent for you?

Hugh		Not really.

Stephen		Not really? Not really? Well, let me see. Firstly,
		let me congratulate you on winning the School
		Poetry Prize.

Hugh		Thank you sir.

Stephen		Mr Drip tells me that it was the most mature and
		exciting poem that he has ever received from a
		pupil. Don't suck your thumb boy.

Hugh		I'm not, sir.

Stephen		No, no. It was just a piece of general advice for
		the future.

Hugh		Oh I see.

Stephen		Now Terry. Terry, Terry, Terence. I've read your
		poem, Terry. I can't pretend to be much of a
		judge of poetry, I'm an English teacher, not a
		homosexual. But I have to say it worried me.

Hugh		Oh?

Stephen		Yes, worried me. I have it here, um: "Inked Ravens
		of Despair Claw Holes In The Arse Of The
		World's Mind", I mean what kind of a title is that?

Hugh		It's my title sir.

Stephen		"Arse Of The World's Mind"? What does that
		mean? Are you unhappy about something?

Hugh		Well I think that's what the poem explores.

Stephen		Explores? Explores! Oh it explores does it? I see.
		"Scrotal threats unhorse a question of flowers", I
		mean, what's the matter boy? Are you sickening
		for something? Or is it a girl? Is that the root of it?

Hugh		Well, it's not something I can explain, sir, it's all in
		the poem.

Stephen		It certainly is all in the poem. "I asked for answers
		and got a headful of heroin in return." Now.
		Terry. Look at me. Who gave you this heroin? You
		must tell me: if this is the problem we must do
		something about it. Don't be afraid to speak out.

Hugh		Well no one.

Stephen		Terry. I'm going to ask you again. It's here. "I
		asked for answers and got a headful of heroin."
		Now Terry, this is a police matter. Speak out.

Hugh		Sir, no one has given me heroin.

Stephen		So this poem is a lie, is it? A fiction, a fantasy?
		What's happening?

Hugh		No, it's all true, it's autobiographical.

Stephen		Then, Terry, I must insist. Who has been giving
		you heroin? Another boy?

Hugh		Well, sir, you have.

Stephen		I have. I have? What are you talking about, you
		diseased boy? This is rank, standing impertinence.
		I haven't given anyone heroin. How dare you?

Hugh		No, it's a metaphor.

Stephen		Metaphor, how metaphor?

Hugh		It means I came to school to learn, but I just get
		junk instead of answers.

Stephen		Junk? What do you mean, the JMB syllabus is
		rigidly adh -

Hugh		It's just an opinion.

Stephen		Oh is it? And is this an opinion too? "When time
		fell wanking to the floor, they kicked his teeth".
		Time fell wanking to the floor? Is this just put in
		to shock or is there something personal you wish
		to discuss with me? Time fell wanking to the floor?
		What does that mean?

Hugh		It's a quotation.

Stephen		A quotation? What from? It isn't Milton and I'm
		pretty sure it can't be Wordsworth.

Hugh		It's Bowie.

Stephen		Bowie? Bowie?

Hugh		David Bowie.

Stephen		Oh. And is this David Bowie too: "My body
		disgusts, damp grease wafts sweat balls from sweat
		balls and thigh fungus", I mean do you wash?

Hugh		Of course.

Stephen		Then why does your body disgust you? It seems
		alright to me. I mean, why can't you write about
		meadows or something?

Hugh		I've never seen a meadow.

Stephen		Well, what do you think the imagination is for? "A
		girl strips in my mind, squeezes my last pumping
		drop of hope and rolls me over to sleep alone."
		You are fifteen, Terry, what is going on inside you?

Hugh		That's what -

Stephen		That's what the poem explores, don't tell me. I
		can't understand you, I can't understand you.

Hugh		Well you were young once.

Stephen		Yes, in a sense, of course.

Hugh		Didn't you ever feel like that?

Stephen		You mean did I ever want to "fireball the dead
		cities of the mind and watch the skin peel and
		warp"? Then, no, thankfully, I can say I did not. I
		may have been unhappy from time to time, if I lost
		my stamp album or broke a penknife, but I didn't
		write it all down like this and show it to people.

Hugh		Perhaps it might have been better for you if
		you had.

Stephen		Oh might it, young Terence? I suppose I am one
		of the "unhappy bubbles of anal wind popping and
		winking in the mortal bath" am I?

Hugh		Well -

Stephen		Your silence tells me everything. I am. I'm an
		unhappy bubble of anal wind.

Hugh		That's just how I see it. That's valid.

Stephen		Valid? Valid? You're not talking about a banknote,
		you're calling your headmaster an unhappy bubble
		of anal wind.

Hugh		Well, I'm one too.

Stephen		Oh well, as long as we're all unhappy bubbles of
		anal wind popping and winking in the mortal bath
		then of course there's no problem. But I don't
		propose to advertise the fact to parents. If this
		is poetry then every lavatory wall in Britain is
		an anthology. What about The Oxford Book Of Verse,
		where's that gone?

Hugh		Perhaps that's the lavatory paper.

Stephen		Is that clever?

Hugh		I don't know.

Stephen		I suppose it's another quotation from Derek
		Bowie is it? I don't understand any more, I don't
		understand.

Hugh		Never mind, sir. You're a bit frustrated perhaps,
		it's a lonely job.

Stephen		I am frustrated, yes. It is a lonely job. So lonely. I
		am assailed by doubts, wracked by fear.

Hugh		Write it down.

Stephen		Eh?

Hugh		Write it down, get it out of your system. "Assailed
		by doubts, wracked by fear."

Stephen		Yes, yes - you think? "Assailed by doubts and
		wracked by fear, tossed in a wrecked mucus foam
		of ... of ..."

Hugh		Hatred?

Stephen		Good, good. What about "steamed loathing"?

Hugh		Better, you're a natural.

	Hugh slips away.

Stephen		"... wrecked mucus foam of steamed loathing.
		Snot trails of lust perforate the bowels of my
		intent. Put on your red shoes, Major Tom, funk to
		flunky ... etc ...

	Fade out.