Monday, September 5, 2016

Curtain Call

    In the last moment as the curtain
    Fell, he ran up out of the audience
    Shouting obscenely.  Ushers rushed
    down, grabbed and escort him
    Outside.  We in the cast were
    Shaken.  The fury unlike
    Anything in the play.

    This surprising violence was
    Like someone rushing out from
    A dark alley when we expected
    Only an unhurried walk to our cars
    And slow rides home.  Light
    Flashes, images explode one
    After the other, Gavrilo Princip

    Rushing out to the Archduke’s
    Car; John Wilkes Booth
    Slipping into Lincoln’s box.
    “Sic semper tyrannis.”  But
    We were mere actors sticking
    To the script.  He was taken
    And we were bewildered.

    The lights finally dimmed.
    We strained minds wondering 
    Why us, what had we done?
    Why me or any I knew?  All
    The same, acting too much
    To offend, and yet he fumed
    With fists raised.  He knew

    Something shouting, we knew
    Nothing.  Why did he hate us?
    What had any of us done?  We
    Were small when we stepped
    Out from behind the lights.  Our
    Gaits unsteady as the real world
    Rushed toward us far too fast.

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