My Antonio
This teenage Tempest can
memorize his lines, but shrinks from
commanding the stage. Tossed on this
island of adolescence (every weekday’s a
high school production), the winds and rough
magic blow him from one act to the next: from
teasing the counselor to near regicide to silently
being forgiven. Maidens’ voyage astern,
now usurping duke, you must, this early, play at
evil. Find that will, son, shake that speare. Stab
the mind of the dutiful groundling, that lord of
weak remembrance –me.