Alfa, the oldest of seven orphaned siblings, tells their story. This monologue, like most of the play, is in verse—in this case, free verse.
(Warning: Using this monologue without permission is illegal, as is reproducing it on a website or in print in any way.)
Growing up septuplets, wouldn't give it up,
Wouldn't trade it, even when that made it hard.
We were really close, see,
Coming from the same womb,
Same there in the nursery room,
Wrapped up and huggy,
Made our parents buggy.
Took a minute sometimes, waiting to get fed;
Competing for resources of course isn't always happy.
Sometimes you got to wait for a fresh new nappy,
Mom and Dad just can't keep up, seven little stinkers,
Poopers and tinklers, seven tantrum-throwers,
Hoping for a kiss when your sister knocks you over,
Need that owee plastered,
Step aside, you bastard!
Scrapped like cats, but made up faster,
That's our babyhood: gleeful disaster.
Daddy works till he can't walk, one day calls us round to talk.
Says "Kids, take a look to your left and your right. This is your tribe for the rest of your life. From the cradle to the grave, these are your people, and that's all you have."
Then he passed, and life got nasty.