Soon to be translated to prose

17 03 2009

The prologue heightens my senses

And the overture rattles the nerves,

Twelve lines until the lights bare my body.

He says that Timing is Everything,

But the extemporaneous is the life-blood.

As the cue approaches, my memory begins to flicker.

I won’t trip over the curtain tonight

I won’t clear my throat so clearly

One must enunciate and emphasize

And never forget to cauterize

The wounds of stuttered lines

And jumped cues.

This is not home for me;

It is hardly even my choice of stops

But as I am here, I must learn

To learn what is here for me

To say what has been written for me

And to do what has been done better before me.

But Jack and Charley need their wine

(And Lord knows Babbs needs his hairpins)

So the resourceful valet shall be taken up

By the recalcitrant writer

Who just missed his cue.

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