The leading man's got a good fifteen years
on his mother, but that's not his main problem,
which is his very wobbly Italian accent, veering
between Sicily and New Jersey.  The Duchess
hates her costume, which is to say, she's doing
a good job being noble.  The lighting man
had to leave in a hurry for Sacramento to attend
a death watch.  Nobody can seem to locate
the prompt book, and Act 2 has suddenly gone
as stale as the prop cake.  The Methodist minister
soon will be revealed as a craven liar,
though not the actual murderer - whom you are not
meant to suspect yet, even if Barb Brackley
has been bragging all over town she's the one.
The victim started laughing on opening night,
shoulders shaking where he lay stabbed
on the thrift store carpet, and then the whole cast
joined in, and finally most of the audience,
even the dead man's red-faced wife.  For belief
is the real show, and always was.

David Graham

If you've any comments on this poem, David Graham would be pleased to hear from you.

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