TONY, WESTSIDE STORY (from a song by Leonard Bernstein and Stephen Sondheim): ‘There’s a place for us, somewhere a place for us, peace and quiet and open air, wait for us, somewhere’
A EXTRATERRESTRIAL’S ALTERNATIVE: Somewhere within someplace, perhaps a fool’s paradise island, although conceivably not, the abundance of smart-arse nincompoops of this dreary, erstwhile heavenly body have coined the hidden meaning of the once supposed sumptuous allegory into a ghoulish, yet not improbable, non-fiction of lies. I am not inclind to wish them well. Were I anything less than a contented trespasser in a land of mainly reactionary snow white earthlings I would shed tears.
REALITY IN THE FORM OF A CONTRADICTORY RHYMING FABLE:
When the far Right doth play
Racist bigots hold sway
So what will dear Mestiza do then
She’ll await her sick fate
At the hands of an inglorious State
And in a death camp
She’ll never survive
SOUND ADVICE FROM A PAST MASTER BY THE NAME OF ADOLPH: ‘If you tell a big enough lie and tell it frequently enough, it will be believed.’
THE WORDS OF A DISTRAUGHT PRIM AND PROPER LADY OF A CERTAIN AGE OUTSIDE A GLUTTONOUS COFFEE FRANCHISE: “How can any God fearing person cast their vote in favour of a lying, sexist, racist?” Regretably I knew not the answer to her question. All I could offer her was a tissue with which she could dry her eyes.
AN ASIDE: ‘So then, ‘Goodnight dear Vienna’, and goodnight to my lover who wore the black lace. ‘Tis beyond my control that wicked circumstance plays the cruelest trickery of all’
AND IN THE END A DEATHLESS PREDICTION AS COHEN RECITES SIMON: