Precarious

NANCY. I suddenly feel so precarious.
BETH. It could happen to us all.
NANCY. No, but it's as if we didn't even exist. As if we were all just...ghosts, or something. Even her own sons. She walked right by them.
BETH. And guess who walked right by us.
NANCY. (Glancing off.) Yes... (Pause.) Do you know what I'd like?
BETH. What?
NANCY. A good stiff drink.
BETH. I'm with you.

-- A. R. Gurney, Jr., The Dining Room

--

"And and Ampersand"

I peeled an orange, read a book,
and hopped across a bleeding brook,
And in a folded, restful nook
One last look at life I took:

Duller than the fruit's sharp taste
And dumber than the words of waste,
My life was soon to be erased
And with the brook of time I raced

To beat the meaning into sand,
To carve of pieces something planned,
And dug once last to understand,
To make of And and Ampersand.

2008