An actor, in his final scene

There’s an anticlimactic scene playing out

on a flimsy set

The stage is not raised and only the front row can

see the one-man show

But they’re eating popcorn and drinking beer

and fucking and fighting in the aisle

The actor hints at Hamlet

Where the prince proclaims his

lack of mirth

But he was never meant to play the Dane

just a bit part in a solo performance

of a streetcar named despair

Some rough and ready handsome lad throws an empty

bottle at the stage

  • Get on with it, fool

Finish the scene, end the act, conclude this dull and dreary display

The bottle is marked ‘ingurgitate’ and leaves

a bruise upon his cheek

The actor merely shakes his head, steps,

and trips into the scenery

There’s no director here, the production is

minimal at most. No painters,

no stage manager, no lighting or costume

No script

There’s no music to set this harrowed indecency

to rights, no warm shadowed alcove

to call to any balcony

just a harsh and unforgiving strip light

malfunctioning and flickering

in an angry buzz of electrical pain

The actor bows, his final scene done

A monologue or soliloquy of no great import

And none notice, none have heard

Just the resentful lights and feeble set

as witness to his final words

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