Sunday In The Park With George

GEORGE:
White, a blank page or canvas
The challenge:
Bring order to the whole
Through Design
Composition
Tension
Balance
Light
And Harmony

DOT:
George
Why is it you always get to sit in the shade
While I have to stand in the sun?
Hello, George?
There is someone in this dress
A trickle of sweat
The back of the—
Head
He always does this—
Now the foot is dead
Sunday in the park with George
One more Sun-!
The collar is damp
Beginning to pinch
The bustle's slipping—
I won't budge one inch
Who was at the zoo, George?
Who was at the zoo?
The monkeys and who, George?
The monkeys and who?
GEORGE:
Don't move
DOT:
Artists are bizarre
Fixed. Cold.
That's you, George
You're bizarre
Fixed. Cold.
I like that in a man
Fixed. Cold.
God, it's hot out here
Well, there are worse things
Than staring at the water on a Sunday
There are worse things
Than staring at the water
As you're posing for a picture
Being painted by your lover
In the middle of the summer
On an island in the river
On a Sunday!
The petticoat's wet
Which adds to the weight
The sun is blinding
All right, concentrate
GEORGE:
Eyes open, please
DOT:
Sunday in the park with George!
GEORGE:
Look out at the water, not at me
DOT:
Sunday in the park with George!

Well, if you want bread
And respect
And attention
Not to say connection
Modeling's no profession
If you want instead
When you're dead
Some more public and more permanent
Expression—
Of affection—
You want a painter
Poet
Sculptor, preferably:
Marble, granite, bronze
Durable
Something nice with swans
That's durable
Forever
All it has to be is good
And George, you're good
You're really good
George's stroke is tender
George's touch is pure
Your eyes, George
I love your eyes, George
I love your beard, George
I love your size, George
But most, George
Of all
But most of all
I love your painting...
I think I'm fainting...

The tip of a stay
Right under the tit
No, don't give in, just—
Lift the arm a bit...
GEORGE:
Don't lift the arm, please
DOT:
Sunday in the park with George!
GEORGE:
The bustle high, please
DOT:
Not even a nod
As if I were trees
The ground could open
He would still say, "Please."
Never know with you, George
Who could know with you?
The others I knew, George
Before we get through
I'll get to you, too
God, I am so hot!
Well, there are worse things
Than staring at the water on a Sunday
There are worse things
Than staring at the water
As you're posing for a picture
After sleeping on the ferry
After getting up at seven
To come over to an island
In the middle of a river
Half an hour from the city
On a Sunday
On a Sunday in the park with—
GEORGE:
Don't move the mouth!
DOT:
—George!