The tailor plied his trade for years –
where he could stand, but often sat,
shouting at times that the sleeve and pant are nought
and the knee and
elbow need room to operate unencumbered,
crowning glory of the legs,
short of the armpit and is absolutely inferior in every way to the
vulva, that the brassiere is a mere contrivance, a cantilever dependent
entirely on the breasts’ magnificent
heft, that the heel and the toes suffer and chafe when feet are shod, and that
walking in shoes is like sewing while wearing mittens,
much less accentuate, the shifting states of
the penis and the scrotum,
the wonder of the
neck in tight ruffles,
superb of un-buttons, and that when the navel is unbuttoned
the waist and the abdomen are freed to a much more perfect
Exhausted, he knelt to the stage,
and felt his clothing like a cage.
He feebly made to rend his pants
and join the actors in their dance.
But short of breath, he could not grasp
a thing. “Please help,” he faintly gasped.
And quick the actors came to aid
the tailor to his tailor-made,
his birthday suit they helped expose.
At last he to his feet arose,
and spoke these words: “Dear playwright, friends:
Just like a needle, with thread, mends,
I lacked the sharp prick of your frank
display of chest and groin and flank
to understand my craft anew.
Your costumes I will make for you,
if you will stage your comedy
with clothes, but also nudity.”
It was agreed. And to the stage,
with all the tailor’s patronage,
attended crowds to see and learn
that to our bodies we should turn
not with disgust or shameful face
but awe and thanks and love and grace.
|Al natural, by Venezuelan playwright José Vicente Díaz Rojas|