The stage props
“Lets ditch this play,
and join the audience.”
That’s what they want…
A creaky wooden chair,
A cold iron lamp,
and a furry old rug:
the stage props.
Tonight refries last night’s flavors.
Are there any new heart chords left
for the chair’s oak to absorb?
Are there any words that haven’t already
been warmed by the glow of this bulb?
A standing ovation,
outrageous condemnation,
and even actors that forget who they are.
Onstage, mindless projections stream
like lemmings that can’t escape their plot.
Every story has lived in this drama.
The lowly rug has seen it all,
bearing the weight of the savage
dance between cradle and eulogy.
But what if for once,
the props had a voice?
Perhaps the last line
in this stage-cell’s performance.
“Who are you writing for playwright?
Your thighs sit on my cushion,
your eyes see with my glare,
your toes rest on my fur.”
Props backstage, waiting to be written into a play at Our Town Theater in Maryland.