G is for Godot - waiting at the markets

The setting is Taylor Square markets, one blustery bitter day near the end of winter, our two protagonists shuffle down stage, right and centre. Hush.

She stands in her own space, erect, still, silent, a mill pond of sadness. The market bustles around her: trolleys are towed, parsnips bought, cauliflower traded, tomatoes sorted, money exchanged. She stands there all the while, behind a veil of culture, an Estragon ‘holding the terrible silence at bay’. She watches the crossing, the people crossing, watches them walk into her field of vision. Whomsoever she waits for, would she recognise them, I ponder. Whose face is she searching for, as she waits? Her eyes trace the patterned bricks, until she again hears footsteps.


Yonder, a noisy energy radiates from Vladimiir’s bench in the centre of the market place. Dust motes rise unceasingly into the morning sun, tickled by the late winter chill, exasperated into flight by his constant need to do. To communicate. To talk. To ring. To text. To swivel. He is a whirlwind. He is a maelstrom. He presents an absurd theatre of the now. It is all about him. His tetchiness. All about need. His need to be seen doing. His need to be heard. To command attention. Turn the focus on me. Here I am. You all need me. You must need me – I need you.

The market crowd mills, busy with its own shape and focus. Our two protagonists wait. We cannot tell for what, or for whom.

A participant in the CDPB Theme Day Open Air Markets

A member of the ABC Wednesday community.