Waiting For the Show (A Poem)

The stage sits empty, disused
The actors all gone home for the day
or maybe forever
You never can tell
Until the curtain opens
on the next night
The lights are powered down
Slumbering in their sleep
Giant eyes closed tightly
Don’t tempt them to open
They’re temperamental
The director sits backstage
Focused on dialogue
So stilted the night before
But coming together
The props stand at attention
in the foreground
Like a still painting with fruit
Painted by hand
and left in the sun too long
Faded and worn, loved
by an audience that arrives last
and leaves first
Satisfied with the show
An imaginary respite
From reality
The stage sits empty, disused
But not for long
It’s a new dawn

And the show must go on.

Sam