On tragedy and comedy.


When you come in every year
and cover everything in blankets
makes me think of coroners
sweeping everything away

Nope.  Never liked you one bit
I'd brace myself for your presence
This time he won't unnerve me
and then you always did.

I hated the end of the season
Watching you put it all into storage
The stage just a dark cold place
where life had never lived

Northrop Frye's grim reaper
provoking your mournful lullabies
as seeds for the next production
so the next show could  go on. 

The End

7 comments about this poem Feed