Ulf and Sven and the ode to a toad
Sven: (offstage) "Ulf. Ulf."
Sven: "I caught a toad, Ulf."
Ulf: "A toad, Sven. What would you want with one of those? Horrible slimy creatures, and they taste terrible."
Sven: "It's for my creative writing project, Ulf. We're to write a piece about wildlife. It's inspired by the poet Milton Keats, the one who wrote the ode to a concrete cow."
Ulf: "I've read that poem, Sven. It's terrible. It rhymes cow with snow."
Sven: "It's soft rhyme, Ulf. It's part of his mastery of language that he can find poetic connection between words beyond the mere vocal clunking of rhyme."
Ulf: "It's not a soft rhyme, it's a crap rhyme. You're better off with prose, Sven. Agatha Christie never rhymed cow with snow."
Sven ignores Ulf, places the toad-box pride of place in the centre of the table, opens a notepad and stares at the toad, seeking inspiration.
Ulf: "No great creative work has ever been written about an amphibian, Sven. You need simplicity, clarity of purpose, a bird in flight, a tiger in attack mode, not some croaky green pondster wondering whether to walk or swim."
Sven says nothing, he starts writing, looking to the toad for inspiration.
Ulf: "What can you write about a toad that's not been said before Sven?"
Sven says nothing, he is too deep in his work. Ulf inspects the toad.
Ulf: (tries poetry) "Oh warty leapy thing, why are you so slimy."
Sven: "It's not funny Ulf."
Ulf: "Why, what have you written?" He picks up Sven's notebook. (reads) "Oh warty leapy thing, why are you so slimy."
Sven: "You must be a poet after all, Ulf. You've written the same thing I did and you weren't even trying. You must be a natural.
Ulf: "Pass me some paper Sven. Maybe I will turn out to be a great writer. Okay toad, inspire me."