The Bag-Man 

An Adaptation

An Adaptation
[this is satire] (Frederic M., a precious but unproductive poet, is recuperating from gastrointestinal surgery. He has been fitted with a colostomy bag. He is sitting at the breakfast table. He lifts his shirt to look at the bag, his badge of suffering. He is astonished to see the bag filling with ... words.) Frederic M.: What do I see but words, the life-force, indeed the essence of my craft, emitting themselves from my very depths into this plastic bag attached to me! (He telephones his neighbor, the literary critic Sophia de R., to tell her the news. Her line is busy. He puts down the receiver and looks at the bag filling with words commonly found in his poems, words like fraught, jejune and serendipitous.) Frederic M.: Haha! Hahaha! Hahahaha! After months, nay, years in the desert of poesie, the words literally flow out of me! My, what a spectacle! Hahahahaha! (He telephones Sophia de R. again. Her line is still busy.) Frederic M.: (ruefully, clenching his teeth): Oooooh, I wish she’d get off the phone! (The words are in Baskerville and float around in a clear fluid. They endlessly form poems, jumble, then form new poems — an organic, infinite poetry machine. Frederic rises and dances a jig.) Frederic M. (maniacally): Haha hahahaha! I’ll be famous! Famous! Rich! Rich! (The dog Ralph enters room, walks over to Frederic M., and bites the bag. The words empty out through the puncture holes. Frederic M. collapses to the floor.) THE END

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