BREAD, BUTTER AND BUKATA

Bread, Butter and Bukata
(Art on trial) Finger exercise.

All three chant, "he can't be him, when he has us", yes Art can't be Art because Art always has us at heart.

Order!
"Wag not your tongues in unison like unwilling kites dancing in the arms of the whirlwind", the Magistrate bellowed. "Speak not like the voice of a bend-down-select market on the day men get their wages. Let there be decorum. State your cases, one voicebox after another. Bread, you may rise"

Bread is all puffed up, and aldough he looks soft, he manages a stale joke.
"Even the Holy Book says, give us our daily bread. I only ask that Art seeks me daily. That will be all, my lord.

"Butter"!
"Slide into the dock, and remember, the truth only, no smearing, no slips"

Butter is all pale, wearing a stiff look in the cold courtroom.

"I only ask to make better every platter, and to get oil from every toil, so as to grease the elbows that bear aloft demanding hands".

Hearts melted and mouths became a-jar, as Butter put a lid on their previously hushed banter.

Bukata stepped forward, combat ready in khaki trousers with a dozen pockets.

" Art can't be Art, because, I am the bill to pay, the pill to heal. I am that music that plays only to the jingle of coins. I am the voice that calls...that says hello just to borrow to pay back on the morrow that never dawns. See, I am the fee that serves 3 terms every year in year out. Hear me out, I am the clothes that do no crimes but must be arra(i)nged and hung in a wardrobe. My other names are Credit the debit kidnapper.
Art can't be art, because he must forever play his many parts".

The Magistrate rules.
Art resigns and sighs.

Bread, Butter and Bukata wins.