To be read aloud.
One Nigerian boy (unfurls Shakespeare’s Sonnet 18):
Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm’d;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm’d;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander’st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou growest:
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this and this gives life to thee.
One Nigerian Girl:
Shall I compare thee to a cooing bird?
Thou art less lovely and spout more nonsense:
What if rough winds shake the dear buds of May?
And what if Summer’s a tightfisted punk?
Will those buy hair from Brazilian heads shorn?
First, what the fuck do those lines even mean?
“And every fair from fair sometime declines”
[barely suppressed rage]
You tone it, or bleach it back to fair, oaf!
Not long can one escape the grasp of Death
You lying fatuous iamb-weaving pig!
Wizened old Death will claim me for his in time
Question then: did you make the most of Life?
Have I made countless cinema trips
Countless restaurant trips countless Dubai trips
On the wages of your days-long slave toil?