Poems A Dead Boy Wrote

Last night was the final night of the Theatre Oxford production of A Streetcar Named Desire and Shelly and I were in attendance.  The babysitter arrived on cue at 6:15, giving us time to dine at Thai restaurant, Rice & Spice, one of our favorite spots.  I had the Red Curry with Tofu and my date had Pad Thai with Shrimp.  The first time I had Tofu, I was living in Martin, TN and in the same apartment building as a Japanese woman who occasionally made Won-Ton stuffed with Tofu along with some kind of Asian soup with the spongy curd.  She may have been Chinese...or Korean.  Anyway, I recognized the coolness factor of Tofu immediately and about once every 10 years, when I am at my most fraudulently hip (such as when attending a local theatre production),  I order something with Tofu.  Once every 10 years, I regret it.

The play started 10 minutes late and ran on about an hour too long.  Some of the blame for this must go to Tennessee Williams, the author whose Columbus, MS childhood porch I once sat upon, but most I assign to me, for being old and tired.  The actor (Alice Walker) who played Blanche DuBois did a fabulous job and the "Stella! Stella" of the earnest thespian (Gregory Earnest) with the impossible task of following Brando, was delivered admirably.  I haven't seen or read Streetcar in many years and I had forgotten how beautifully it is written.  Or maybe I am better able to appreciate it now that I am long of tooth and beaten. 

There are many memorable lines in the play but my favorite is Blanche's description of the yellowed letters kept in her trunk as "Poems a dead boy wrote."  I could live a whole year of my life powered merely on the beauty of that description.  As a matter of fact, I believe I will.