The theatre is as dark as India ink
The air is full of actors' old stink
An actress as old as the theatre stands
On the brink of the stage, wringing her hands
She doesn't even know why she's here
She's just about ready to give in to her fear
And give up her dream; run back to the night
When she sees a small brightness off to the right
The beam of a flashlight jolts forward in the dark
It illuminates her, then describes a full arc
Around her still form, then moves off to the left
Where a light switch is found in a wall's small cleft
The flashlight moves over to turn on the light
Which isn't much better than the flash for being bright
But it's enough to reveal the director of a production
Which he hopes will be his career's reconstruction
The director checks the actress toe to head
I'm hoping for someone younger, perhaps you were misled
He tells her in the snottiest of tones
She responds with a hard voice designed to crush stones
Oh yeah? Well keep hoping until you drop dead
She declares as her face turns brick red
She turns on her heel to leave the audition
As she curses the man to perdition
You show spirit, perhaps we can work something out
He shouts after her as she turns around with a pout
She stops suddenly, and he runs into her full steam
She pushes him off, trying not to scream
I'll give you one song, to show you my scope
If that's not enough, then go piss up a rope!

The End

13 comments about this poem Feed