Flowers to the Fans

When night draws in, the curtains close
Stage remains lit, wooden floor faintly glows
Silence whispers through the air like a ghost
Afterthoughts of tomorrows and first nights fade away
Waning moon hiding behind rafters
Above dead lightbulbs painted with dust
Shouts of laughter echo from a hollow audience.
They laugh and chuckle and guffaw
As if poking fun of the elemental drama
Taking place in the absence of scenery.

Light feet tap on a bare, hollow stage
To music none can hear, except the rats
That are dancing up and down the aisles
Of empty, hardened seats.
And wonder, what a way to go out
Unseemingly afraid of what comes next:
The cast party downstairs.
And oh!, what a party! Of cobwebs and rust,
Folding chairs that don’t move, but groan
In despair, of the days yet to come that never did
And will not bloom under the moon,
But for the sun that will never set
On dreams of vicarious survival in stone.

And one more time, the clocks strike When,
Even to the murmurs of lost tickets sold
To fancy the maids and chauffeurs and postmen
Wanting a morning of forgiveness
In the eyes of the children, who know where it is
But don’t know how to find the prize.
Tell them what to do, show them how to drive,
Teach them what it means – that is how to die,
And in which we are not going, but floating away
Backwards to the stage with its empty eves,
Bare bones shaking in shoes untied
Delusion performance for vacant eyes
Like those who stand off to the side
Script in hand, prompting those who’ve lost the words
Only to say that the trap door is locked and closed.

Open ears can’t hear the music, can’t hear the speech,
Open ears can’t feel the tap on the shoulder
To let them know it’s all OK --
The wind has died down slowly
For the chance to change its mind
About that window on the second floor
That’s stuck just open,
But not enough to know the rest is there.

After all, the backdrop’s been done with dark paints
That are still dripping as they dry,
Because the fan’s turned on and facing the other way.
What does that do? but blow it away
For all the yesterdays and soons;
This afternoon was spent in practicing
For the Night the Curtain Closed
And then they saw
The show as it was meant to be.
But by then they had unlearned
And untaught, and shadowed up
And made it a list running up the walls
So that none could hear the music
Except the rats.

Copyright Mallery January 2003