THE PLAY IS THE THING

Nestled in a darkened room.
My feet pulled back beneath the chair
Meant to avoid late-coming traffic of
Those too unfeeling to arrive on time.
Ploying my neighbor to wrestle the armrest,
A respite of comfort as evening advances.
Straining to read the last lines of the program;
Looking for hints of what may lie ahead.
Patience thins with the slightest delay
As anticipation stands on its toes
And stretches and strains to be
Launched on its journey,
Longing to see which direction it goes.

The overture starts as the crowd becomes hushed and
Familiar melodies fill the room...
A sour note from a horn breaks the air as
Peripheral motion is spied in the wing...
The crowd settles in with focused attention,
Awaiting the miracle yet to unfold as
The night becomes magic, reality fades,
The stage fills with life and
The play is the thing.

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