(The art of performance).
You take to this sparse stage
confidently,
a salmon leaping for its life,
flimsy worn paper notes
the bait that trapped you
into bearing your soul,
now held nonchalantly low,
a frown, a tremble, a gag,
as you unveil the inner you
to curious ears.
Will they get it?
What if you screw-up,
worse still corpse?
But you know the words are good,
they pull, they knick, they push, they lick, they kiss
the upturned dimmed faces below.
Wry smiles, agreeable nods, tears perhaps
and then unsure applause,
pops like the first splashes of a shower
meandering forwards row by row.
So back you go sated,
bus ticket in hand
© Graham Sherwood 12/2014
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