A Tiff on Frost and the Rapper, Drake

Scene: a bus stop, January, snowing, windy. Three people huddle in the small shelter. They are strangers to one another, though they have met here before. The winter-pale youth is thumbing his phone. The large African woman in blue jeans and a quilt coat is reading. The ambiguously fleshed old man, to whom they have conceded the bench, leans on his cane. He is the only one of the three that does not occasionally turn to see if their bus might be coming.

Old man:

What are you reading? (He says this into the air between the other two, as if perhaps asking both of them.)

Youth:

Nothing you. . . .

Woman:

Robert Frost (she holds the book up to show the cover to both of them.)

Old man:

Whose woods are these I. . . something, something, something. . . Woods are deep and lovely/and I have miles to go before I something, something, something.”

Woman: (Riffles through the pages of her book.)

Youth:

You’re breaking the rules, you know.

Old man:

Excuse me?

Youth:

The rules. You know the ones that say “Thou shalt remain strangers in the city.” That rule.

Woman:

Here. (she holds the book up and begins to read the poem “Stopping by a Wood on a Snowy Evening.” She reads with inflection and love. She gets to “My little horse must think it queer” before she is interrupted.)

Youth:

How the fuck Tom retro can you get for the lovagod. (He turns furiously to his phone, thumbing it.)

Woman:

(Continues to read as if he had not spoken. She gets to “And I have miles to go. . .” before she is interrupted again.)

Youth:

Here’s where a nigga live now. (He holds up his phone and begins to read “Know Yourself” by Drake. He jives and dances as he reads, emphasizing the beat, just as Drake would.

(The woman reacts to “nigga” but continues to read the last lines of the poem, Meanwhile the youth is reading. He gets to “I guess I know myself” before he is interrupted.)

Old Man:

A stranger is a man who knows only himself and doesn’t heed when to shut the fuck up.

Youth:

(stops reading, stops dancing. looks at the old man, his cane, his uselessness.) Excuse me, I was reading.”

Old man:

Yea. And a fairly decent song it is, too. But where is your decency? This woman had not finished her. . . .

Youth:

Honk flake shit.

Old Man:

Poem.

Woman:

(quoting from Drake and dipping and hipping to the beat) “That’s been where you find me at/ I know a nigga named Johnny Bling. . . .” (She stops) I know that rap. Good shit.

(The youth is silenced.)

Old Man:

Go on, go on. (He lifts his cane and gives it a twirl. He is speaking to either of them, perhaps both of them).

Woman:

(Continues to recite) “He put me onto finer. . . .” (She recites several lines then stops.) I probably screwed up a few things, there.

Youth:

(To the woman) I am sorry.

Old Man:

Here (He takes a tablet from a pocket in his jacket. He touches it a few times, speaking to the youth, as he does so.) We are only strangers when we do not hear. (He holds his tablet up. Lights dim as it plays Drake rapping “I Know Myself.”

In response to the Rag Tag community daily prompt: waiting (as in at a bus stop), and Your Word of the Day prompt
isolated as in strangers.

If anyone is offended by some of the language of this skit, they have not read it. Acknowledgement to Robert Frost and Drake for some of the lyrics in this skit.