at the arts centre

so different from the garbage dump
with its soft sweet dust and decay
so unlike the sleepers of the underpass
we all stand in line for the doors to open

for the play to start
rustling our programs
changing our minds
speaking cleverly
softly to be overheard
by somebody influential
who will turn and say
golly, you’re brilliant!
may I finance you?

Water trickles perpetually out of nowhere
defying the gravity of the situation with levity
we are overwhelmed by monumentality
concrete and marble trump solid atoms

I bring my grey head into the theatre
ready to be enlightened by an hour of thought
Then I leave and forget in the face of water
trickling onto my skull.

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About riverwriter

Poet, playwright, duplicate bridge player, website designer, cottager, husband, father, grandfather, former athlete, carpenter, computer helper for my friends, theatre designer, backstage polymath, retired teacher of highschool English, drama, art, a baritone singer in a barbershop quartet, who knows what else? wordcurrents is on Facebook: Doug also has a Facebook page, "Incognitio", related to his novels.
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