Through sunlit hours the day went well,
A bright-hued swirl as the leaves fell.
Then on the road the clouds moved in,
Cool and grey in a fading sky.
I watched the night and rain begin
As leaf-soaked streetlamped curbs flipped by.
Lights in the trees. The leaves came down.
A rainy night, a rainy town.

Through the wet night a box office glow
Patterned the rain-slick street below.
Ticket in hand, a seat in the stalls
For a parvenu with an open mind.
From overture to curtain calls
I hoped the night’s five acts might find
The larger structure of the day,
But all the hours got in the way.

The curtain rose. A spot came on.
A backlit backdrop mimicked dawn.
The cast filed in from either wing,
Each in turn to strut and fret,
Each in turn to stand and sing,
Repeat the words and not forget.
The stage was lit, the house lights down.
A diva sang in a sequined gown.

A six-week run. The seasoned cast
Consigned old tensions to the past —
A firm resolve to cauterize
The one who loved and one who spurned,
Cool and fey with her lambent eyes.
And from their lines I might have learned
The larger structure of the play,
But all the weeks got in the way.

Lights in the flies. The play went well.
The heroine stood where the spotlight fell.
I watched the leading man glide by
And kneel before that icy back
In a pleated shirt with tails and tie —
A sad tableau in gold and black.
How often was this seen before?
And here again, yet one time more.

And which was drama? Which was fact?
The question haloed every act,
And every season, year by year,
Through bright-lit day and howling night.
Each in its turn must disappear.
A raging dawn might bring to light
The bed wherein the structure lay,
But all the years got in the way.

The stage is dark. The cast is gone.
Audience members stretch and yawn
And file out under the bright marquee.
Yet one more time the night must come.
The leaves must spin from a sodden tree
To pattern the continuum.
The past outside rages and storms
While here inside the future forms.

Yes, all the years got in the way.
What else is there left to say?
The trees were lit. The rain came down.
Leaves and hours went drifting by
In forty different shades of brown,
Cool and slick in a borrowed tie.
So what else is there left to say?
Ring down the curtain on this play!

Post by E.S. May