Sketches and Poem

Well, I can't post the play because, through editing the third act before the first, the second act before the third, it makes no sense. I've come to realize that I'm just putting off giving the Persian hero of the play a voice of her own. I don't have a primary character that the play is supposed to revolve around. Instead, I have stage direction, suspended-disbelief, and the dialogue of every other character. I do have some character sketches that seem interesting to me: Play takes place is California Darakhshan: Persian lady, 24, olive skin, hereditary and bruise-like eclipses under eyes, thin frame and thin face that shows grotesque bone structure. Adopted to a california couple--mother a news anchor, father a producer Murphy: writer, 32, unlucky, from French, Lick Indiana Mickey: 50, ex Longshoreman, deep creases in face, cataracts that give him white and clouded eyes Nurse: 35, Spanish-American, short, curvy, full lips, and deadpan Those are the sketches. Anyway, I figured I should post a poem if anyone out there wants to read something that I took legitimate and personal thought into. A Dim-Lit Scene A policeman's son taught me The major roadways of Ohio While we drove an eighteen-hour Summer drive to Florida. I-71 travels from Louisville to Cleveland, I-74 from Iowa to Ohio, I-76 from Westfield, OH to Newark NJ, and I-75 from Canada through Ohio, and all the way to Florida. Currently, I'm en route to Canada. Rain falls into Saturday night. Windshield wipers slide back and forth. Lights from headlamps reflect and break apart In a blinding manner. Red and blue police lights Flash on an ambulance parting traffic On the same interstate but in the opposite direction. Every light is mute. Talk radio is on an AM station. The disk-jockey Henry narrates from his room Glossy, green signs with white script. Off exit rampt 32 Down Euclid St. and passed The Camera's Photography Store There is a sunken parking lot surrounded by stores. An electric restaurant's sign illuminates in the rain. A chain of retail stores remain closed for the weekend. I came across a kitchen appliance store. Dim lights fell on each staged, bourgeois scene. It was like walking through a model home, But each room a different kitchen. It was like watching a dying man Who searches But finds every compartment In every room of his home Empty.