The Play's the Thing

The Play’s The Thing


Every day
the same play.
The moment I rise, 

the first act begins,
the same plot
all over again.

Only the actors,
only the scenery,
vary. Act after act,

no intermission,
no denouement,
it never ends.

Every night,
in the front row,
the same lady 

in a plumed hat
shouts, “Author, Author!”
I smile, I bow,

what else can I do?
Finally, I pull the curtain 
and turn in.  


Donal Mahoney
Copyright © | Year Posted 2010

Poem

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