I don't know about this one.
The title may not be right.
I got into Depression, the Depression era of the 30s.
There's some real fine plays from the 30s.
I just saw one called Awake and Sing, Clifford Odets.
Thought it was very fine.
So powerful, the words.
"1931," that's the title.
"Having spent the last of our money,
my husband comes home, bringing a small slab of beef.
My breasts hang out of my unbuttoned blouse,
and the nipple oozing milk tries to lick itself.
As he bends to kiss it, I push him away.
And he goes into the bedroom to look
at our son, whose irises like two blue baby onions
come apart, skin by skin as he wakes.
He brings him to me and walks out into the road.
He can't blame me for not wanting him.
Before, I only gave myself out of boredom.
And with his hunger, even that is gone.
I shout, but he keeps walking.
He knows I'll follow, always behind or ahead of him,
but never at his side."