Back in the bad old days, the pool was the perfect place to park women while they waited to get married, recovered from divorce or worked up the courage to rob a bank. Presto, they got feminism, the kind that's rich in rhythm, insight and attitude. These three may be typing, but they also are in charge of their working conditions and in full control of the product. Speaking of the product, that's the biggest surprise. In four years, they've pounded out close to 3,000 poems.
None is an utter dog, and plenty are good to great.
Instead of settling in to produce another 3,000, The Typing Explosion decided to shift through their wares and shake a play out of them. Now they'll hit a dead end, I thought. There's no common theme among these poems, which cover everything from rancid genes and broken dates to brushoffs and bonding. Light falls, lipstick smears itself on collars and televisions talk to each other in empty apartments. She's so enthralled by her queen bee act she can't hear rebellion rumbling in the hive.