Pros and Cons
Most of this is in prose. Only in moments of extreme abandon did I dare to do verse.
The curtain rose in finite steps
Lights, actors, action.
Only there were no actors, apparently
there could be no action.
The audience was a breed of respectable
stiff upper lip gentry.
They waited in academic silence, pondering
for the first entry.
It required a voice of an accompanying child
for the query.
“What’s going on”; was in a nutshell
what he meant.
His knowledgeable parents, stealing side-glances,
remained silent.
Seven minutes, or eight, passed in anticipation.
Then started the stirrings of dissension.
“What, no actors. An empty stage”. “With the moons on”.
“A new form”. “Greater than the third. Forth form?”
The beard on the third row nodded.
The green shave, his elite neighbour responded.
Still the stage was empty.
Curtains lifted at eight. Now it was eight-thirty.
The seats were now full of camaraderie
All the paying public were equal in conjecture
All were one. Confusion. Irritation.
And the rest associated emotion.
. . .
Ten thirty-five.
Some were in bed. Some at meal.
None could sort out
What was that all about.
. . .
In the labyrinth of drug-daze he lay.
The play writer.
It was his first play.
