Casting Poem by Percy Dovetonsils

When the newborn arrives
he is greeted
by many scriptwriters
and directors
who offer him
roles.

Sometimes
those roles
are
perfect casting.

More often
they’re a stretch.

More often
the baby
grows up
to find itself
miscast
in a cruel fiasco,
a travesty,
a runaway production
staged by
parents, siblings, teachers, neighbors,
bosses, bullies, stalkers, lovers.

Only
friends
seem to understand
what the right roles are.
Friends
are the clear-eyed casting directors
of life.
The good angels
who give us room
to,
as the Army proudly promises,
be all that we can be.

But true
friends
are few
and far
between.

So
we try to stage
our own productions
write our own roles
cast ourselves
direct ourselves
even promote
and distribute
our own
creations.

It’s all too much.
Films
aren’t
one man shows.

Then
how do we work with others
yet
ensure
we’re in the right roles
for us?

The answer is
we
rarely do.
We make do
with the off the rack
roles
we’re issued.

Most of us
traipse about
in ill-fitting,
painful,
ridiculous,
parts
our whole lives,
thinking
we are
properly portraying,
not tragically betraying,
ourselves.

What could be
more deluded?
Or absurd?
Or painful?
Or heroic?
Or futile?
Or benighted?
Or misbegotten?

Than to play the wrong
roles
our whole lives
long?