A player walks the stage, stalks it
Like a preying animal.
The lights go up
And as a mercenary born
He plays his part.
The words are scripted
The actions resolute.
And again he disappears into the wings.
The audience.
The audience of one
Does not understand
Remains before the dark stage.
Questions rebuffed by the black
Turns away.
The play finished and the player gone
The world again descends.
Her fear realized, she cries out.
"It's over damn you! Drop the curtain!"
Walks out between the rows
Alone.
And then there was silence
Save for the slamming door
Curtain call.
--Jenn Carlson February 28, 1996
