A woman sits on a sofa, staring into space. Maybe she’s watching TV. Or at least it’s on. There is nothing more.
MAN’S VOICE
(offstage, amplified)
Tomorrow will be better.
It always is tomorrow.
But today her lungs are like beached seals.
(The woman lets out a small cough.)
MAN’S VOICE
Or sandbags
Slumped against the food she hasn’t eaten,
The coffee and cigarettes.
(She reaches for a box of cigarettes and discovers it’s empty. She drops it easily.)
WOMAN’S VOICE
(offstage)
I swallow too much.
MAN’S VOICE
Or sandbags. Today, she is here.
WOMAN’S VOICE
(overlapping)
Today coats her teeth
like pennies or pickles.
Tomorrow has no taste.
Like eternity. Like God.
Tomorrow will come
and bring something. Space.
What a lovely idea.
WOMAN
(to herself)
What a lovely idea.
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