Next day's play, back home:
Also from Cuba, this menu: tuna, pork paté, bean soup…
…corn — take four ears, Dane.
Nope. Don't like that junk.
Don't like corn? What, can't give corn room? Take tuna, then. Four cans.
Open four cans, chop kale — don't cook them, mind! Let's take them over…
They stay here, fast with fury, lean with love,
Afar from Goa's sand they ever rove
With foul lung, shut eyes, blue lips, mean claw,
None sees that emir, king, even that shah
Iran sent with pale hope, with fair thin face,
Part hope, part fear, part sent well high, part base.
Even them boys that Cuba sent feel well
Upon fast part from Goa's inky Hell.
Poet! Well come here, Zulu! Let's clap, gang,
Fair rime, that foul pros ever said they sang.
DANE (hops with FINN: slow jive time)
Uggh. Stop, Finn, lest your toes turn down with mine… look away, boys… drop, fast, when Zulu says that oboe ends…
What oboe, Dane? They hear dogs bark, with keen ears, ever pert. What oboe tune hear thou, fine zany Dane? What wood wind sang from over that long vale?
DANE (fury with TONY)
When they take bird meat, song will stop fast. Keep back!