A one page poem/play by Frank Van Zant

A classroom in medias res, sunshiny surreal, smileyface teacher at
chalkboard, smileyface students seated but beginning to wave hands at each
other, arguing in pantomime, growing progressively heated, now waving
frantically as lights off teacher who stays “frozen” in darkness and
spotlights on students.

Young Lady:  This man, he’s try’n’a help you, but you’re just brickhead
dumbass stoopid, actin’ like you all da bomb, like you got things
happenin’, flashin’ that money.  You think you’re foolin’ him where that
money comes from?

At this the Boy is smiling with aggressive anger, 
with obvious wounded pride, motions with his hands as if to communicate
“C’mon, c’mon, what else you gotta say?”

Young Lady: You think you’re badass like you got something smooth goin’
onna street, but you don’t know shit, you punkasspussylittleprettyboy.

Now the Boy is crazed, still silent in a dumb show, but using obscene
handmotions, angry gestures and mouthings 

Now the Teacher enters lights motioning with frantic/silent calls for
cessation

Both students face each other squarely,
totally ignoring the circling, frantic Teacher 

Young Lady:  Don’t you be tellin’ me to suck on your nuts, ‘cause I got
people and they ain’t gonna be hearin’ THAT, pussylittlemotherfucker, so
STEP OFF, and don’t be disrespectin’ me ‘cause I’ll have you killed! 

Teacher finally intercedes, and students eye each other, coming to a
strange sort of closure—perhaps a mental note to take this up later with
reinforcements, or an agreement to disagree, or even a mutual
retreat—students part, eyeing, lights dim, students in  silhouette, as
scrims, for smiley faces projected, spotlight on teacher, thoughtstruck 
with jaw-slack mouth... 

Teacher:  How do we get to Hamlet from here?