Vamping
by Job Conger
The curtain parts. . . .
and he steps out,
folds his hands into each other at the belt,
begins a pitter-pat introduction to the show,
explaining how it all came together
for the bright and shining production
about to begin, and
this is his first time walking onto
a stage in this beautiful city, and boy are his legs tired . . . .on stage
and the effort that went in,
and the challenges met and overcome,
and the way the canvass came together
over two-by-fours with the little wheels on the bottom,
and the smell of all those paint fumes,
set builders on their bleeding knees,
sweating like saints possessed,
and the weather,
and 60 girls auditioned last April
for the lead.
Thanks to Bleeker and Strouse for
underwriting the day-care cost so the cast
could focus on final rehearsals last week, and
the director’s wife brought a new son into the world
ast St. Johns just three nights ago and
golly, did that
throw a stick into the spokes of this Big Gus production
and the cue from the bandleader offstage right
should come aaaaaaaaaaaaany minute now and
won’t that be swell because Mickey Rourke will be on
Letterman tonight and oh, wow, he’s really looking forward
to being home in time for that and
have you looked at the price of grapes lately?
Gee whiz, no wonder the kids
are bursting their britches
from nachos smothered in polyunsaturated
cheese food product and by the way . . . . .
And he jabbers on and on and on,
serenading us, like a corn-belt “Leaves of Grass”
beneath the proscenium and on and on and on
because nobody came out
and tapped him on the shoulder,
because nobody told him
there is no one back stage now.
And the music never comes.
He is the joke.
He is the play.
Drive safely.
Good night.
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
I’m reciting this at “Poetry at Robbies,” on the south side of the square, on Adams between Fifth and Sixth. The evening begins when readers with something to share put their names into the hat and the fun begins at 6. I hope to see you there.
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