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
