Answer:
A play that makes fun of something is called satire.
Explanation:
Satire is an artistic technique that can be used in music, literature, paintings, sculptures and even plays. This technique consists of creating an artistic work with the objective of mocking someone or something, in an acid and often aggressive way.
Usually satires are made to mock and criticize political events or personalities, but they can be made representing several different themes and even other artistic works.
<span>According to Ana Quindlen, other countries often handles deep ethical division “by separating to become new countries with a new name”. She adds that America's ethnic groups before the Cold war was the enemy of the US. Everybody together put off and fight against communism and war. </span>
Dove-twirl in the tall grass. End-of-summer glaze next door On the gloves and split ends of the conked magnolia tree. Work sounds: truck back-up-beep, wood tin-hammer, cicada, fire horn
<span>A. Poetry of Place</span>
My birthplace vanished, my citizenship earned, in league with stones of the earth, Ienter, without retreat or help from history, the days of no day, my earth of no earth, I re-enter the city in which I love you. And I never believed that the multitude of dreams and many words were vain.
D. Poetry of Family
On the days when the rest have failed you, let this much be yours— flies, dust, an unnameable odor, the two waiting baskets: one for the lemons and passion, the other for all you have lost. Both empty, it will come to your shoulder, breathe slowly against your bare arm. If you offer it hay, it will eat. Offered nothing, it will stand as long as you ask. The little bells of the bridle will hang beside you quietly, in the heat and the tree's thin shade. Do not let its sparse mane deceive you, or the way the left ear swivels into dream. This too is a gift of the gods. Calm and complete.
B. Poetry of Spirit
When the black snake flashed onto the morning road, and the truck could not swerve— death, that is how it happens. Now he lies looped and useless as an old bicycle tire. I stop the car and carry him into the bushes.
C. Poetry of Nature
