The Play’s The Thing

Every day
the same play.
The moment I rise,
the first act begins,
the same plot
all over again.
Only the actors,
only the scenery,
vary. Act after act,
no intermission,
no denouement,
it never ends.
Every night,
in the front row,
the same lady
in a plumed hat
shouts, “Author, Author!”
I smile, I bow,
what else can I do?
Finally, I pull the curtain
and turn in.

Donal Mahoney

Archived 08/10/2010