Walt Whitman Meets Trevor

Dear Readers,

I’m taking a playwriting class right now that I really like. We had to write a short play that had to have some weird stuff in it. It had to have 3 hats, a famous historical/ fictional character who delivers a monologue, a teenager, a character who sings, the color purple, and the line, “when did I make that wish?” The play could be really silly. As it turns out, this play is really silly. Without further ado, here’s my play:

Walt Whitman Meets Trevor

a 10 minute play by Telemoonfa

Scene: Trevor, a teenager wearing a purple hat, stands at a farmhouse doorstep. The American Midwest. 1850.

Trevor: Hello.

Mr. Whitman: Can I help you?

Trevor: Yes sir. I was walking by your farm and saw-

Mr. Whitman: What’s that on your head?

Trevor: Is there something on my head?

Mr. Whitman: Is that a hat?

Trevor: Yes sir.

Mr. Whitman: Strangest looking hat I’ve ever seen. What do you want anyway?

Trevor: Right, well, I’m sorry. I was wondering if you needed a hand around the farm. I’ve done lots of farm work before, well, a little anyway and if I could just, help in any way I can… I’m raising money for college. I want to go to school so that eventually I can -

Mr. Whitman: See that man way over there?

Trevor: Yes sir.

Mr. Whitman: He’s my son. His name is Walt Whitman. Go talk to him, if you want to
work, and if you work ‘til sunset, I’ll pay you a dollar. And I’ll feed you dinner.

Trevor: Oh thank you very much sir. I’m very grateful that you-

Mr. Whitman: And I’d throw that hat away if I were you.

Trevor: Yes sir. You’re right. It is a silly hat. (He walks to a different part of the stage. singing.)
Here I go a walking on
Walking as I sing this song
Looking for work, looking for work,
Looking for pay, looking for pay
‘cause I’m an honest boy.

(To Walt Whitman) Hello! Hi! My name’s Trevor.

WW: My name’s Walt.

Trevor: Your father said I could work with you. He said you’ve got some farm work to
do and he’d pay me a dollar at the end of the day.

WW: A dollar? He must like you. Or maybe he likes your hat. What do you think of my
hat? Oh nevermind, there’s time for that later. Right now we have to work. Follow me. Wait, no, I should know something about you before we start working together all day. We’ll be sharing the whole day together, hopefully. Maybe more. So I should know at least a little bit about you. That’s only proper. How long have you been in the area?

Trevor: Just got here yesterday.

WW: Where are you from?

Trevor: Down south.

WW: Down south huh? I love the south. That’s my favorite direction.

Trevor: I’m from Louisiana, to be more particular.

WW: Yes, I love the south. And I love you too, Trevor. Is that weird? I love you. Does
that make you feel uncomfortable? I hope it doesn’t make you uncomfortable. I’m not trying to make you feel uncomfortable, but… I love you. I just like saying it. Trevor, I’ve been praying for you to come here. Just this morning, when I was waking up, right when a dream left my mind, I felt the urge to get on my knees and pray. I don’t pray very often. Hardly ever. But this morning, for some reason, it felt like the right thing to do. I love you. Do you pray, Trevor?

Trevor: What kind of work should I do?

WW: First tell me if you pray, then we’ll get to work. Don’t worry. You’ll get your
dollar. Do you pray?

Trevor: Yes, I pray. I’m a Christian. I suppose I don’t pray as much as I should or as
long as I should, but I do pray.

WW: That’s good Trevor. I’m glad you pray. Very glad. I pray too. I prayed for you to
come here. This morning I asked the Lord to send me a friend, and you came knocking on my farmhouse door. There you are, Trevor, standing in front of me, and here I am, standing in front of you, and here we are together, both standing on this farm. And it’s a bright, bright morning.

Trevor: What kind of work should I do?

WW: Work? Oh, you’ve already done enough. Don’t worry about work. Just being here
is work enough, Trevor. Trevor. I like that name. Trevor from down south, Trevor from Lousisana… You’re doing the Lord’s work. God sent you here to me. I’m lonely. I’m a poet. I’m sorry. Please don’t go. Here, take this bucket. Feed the pigs. (Trevor starts to feed the pigs) No. Stop. Sorry. I forgot I already fed the pigs. They’re fat enough as it is. Pink plump pigs. Pink plump pigs. I like the way that sounds. Pink plump pigs. Here. (WW hands Trevor a shovel) Start digging a hole. Father wants to transplant a tree. An apricot tree. He says the soil is better over here and he said something about the way the sunlight hits this spot of ground, if I remember correctly. I really don’t know much about farming. I just dress this way because I like to pretend I’m a farmer. The hole should be three feet deep. No, four feet deep. Wait. Do you know how deep a hole for an apricot tree should be?

Trevor: Four feet, I think. (Trevor starts digging. WW paces back and forth.)

WW: Wait. Stop. Sorry. Father doesn’t really want to transplant a tree today. Sorry. I
don’t think Father would be very happy if he came over here and saw you digging a hole in his nice ground. Why are you messing up Father’s ground that way? It was just fine the way it was before you started stabbing it with that shovel. I love you.

Trevor: Look, Walt Whitman, let me tell you what I think.
(singing) I came here for money
That’s what I really want
I came here for money
That’s why I want to work
I came here for money
Tuition is expensive
I came here for money
And not to be your friend

WW: You sing! I asked God to bring me a nice young man, just an ordinary man, an
ordinary man to be my friend, to ease my loneliness, and he brought me a nice young man who sings! Trevor! (WW hugs Trevor. Trevor shoves and punches WW. Trevor threatens WW with the shovel.) What was that for? You’re becoming frightening. Put the shovel down. Please. Put the shovel down. Trevor, please, I said put the shovel down. I said please. Put the shovel down!

Trevor: I’ll put the shovel down if you keep away from me and tell me what I can do to
earn a dollar. Feed animals? Dig holes? Pick fruit? I don’t care what it is. I’ll pick fruit if you want me to pick fruit. I’m good at picking fruit. I need the money and this farm is the only farm around for miles and miles. That’s all I’m here for. Just, please… OK, here look, I’m putting the shovel down and I’m stepping away from it. See? Tell me what kind of work I should do or else I’m leaving. God didn’t send me here. I just wandered here. I didn’t mean to hurt you. You seem like a nice man. I really didn’t mean to hurt you. Are you all right?

WW: Yes, Trevor, I’m fine. I want you to stay. Please don’t go. I’ve already forgotten
about the shovel incident between you and me. I forgive you. Write poems with me. I’m a poet. I write poetry. Please, write poems with me. Why don’t we start now? OK, I’ll start the line, and you finish it. Ready? Green fields of grass grow slowly yet fastly. No, that’s no good. Green fields of grass grow slowly. That’s better. It’s simple, but it’s true. Just look around you. Isn’t the grass growing slowly? That’s when you know if a poem is a good poem. When it’s true. Now you come up with the next line, Trevor.

Trevor: I have to go. (WW kills Trevor with the shovel)

WW: Here I am working on the farm, feeding pigs, feeding chickens, feeding cows,
walking from the field to the barn, walking from the barn to the field, walking, walking, sweating. My pen is lonely in the drawer of the desk where I left it last night, shut up in the darkness of a closed drawer. The sky is a gorgeous color. The smell of the grass is more pleasant than expensive perfume. But how will anyone know? My pen is in a drawer in the house, and I’m doing this farm work. I wish I could be inside writing poems about the sky. Poems that people will love. Poems that people will memorize. Poems that make the sky more genuine and majestic than it would be without my poems. My pen would give the masses the words that are hidden deep inside them. If only I could stop doing this farm work. But the bank might take my father’s land away. And so I feed the chickens. And wait for money to come floating from the sky. And when did I wish for a friend? When did I make that wish? A pen is the only friend I need. (Mr. Whitman enters)

Mr. Whitman: Looks like you killed the kid.

WW: Yes Father, I did. With this shovel.

Mr. Whitman: What are you going to do with the body?

WW: Feed it to the pigs, maybe. Mix it in with their slop.

Mr. Whitman: Naw, better bury him and then plant a tree on top of him. An apricot tree
maybe. Nobody would think to dig underneath a tree. And human bodies make good fertilizer.

WW: Can I go inside and write poetry? Please?

Mr. Whitman: No. Finish your chores.