Dafremen The Show
R. Dafremen

How'd I do? Did you enjoy the show?
Did I get it right? Did I play the part?
Was it nothing that you expected?
Was it everything you could have hoped for?
I hope so, really I would mean so much to me.
You deserve at least that much and
You've made the time so good for me.
I'm so proud of you, believe it's true
Wish there was more I could do for you
Give to you, be for you
I'm so damned grateful for what there was
What we've seen, heard and known
The good, the bad, the tragedy
All worthwhile, and I mean this most sincerely
For a half a minute of your indulgence
For a halfcock of your smile,for a laugh from you
A grin or tear or a glare from you is all I ever lived for
A moment to be the spectacle in your show
A moment when you're the star of mine
A moment when stars might fade or shine
Depends on the things a star might wish upon
Whatever else might happen know this
That your moment in the show was a shining success.
jane The crowd gathers round,
and bustles about to find their seats.
The show is about to begin.
Cranberry-colored velvet curtains
pull aside, as if excusing themselves by magic,
and there an empty stage.

And then the crowd, the chorus,
sees the players. The couple.
The spotlight, center stage.
They stand facing each other,
looking directly at the other
as if into a mirror. Gender blurred
but matched all the same.
Their naked skin is white
from the solar spot blinding
in the heavens of the rafters.

She blinks, and then
he takes a step forward.
She closes her eyes. The crowd
sits silent, unknowing.
What have we come here to see?
Can we even remember?

He kisses her. They remain
centered in the white beam,
surrounded by particles
kicked up by heedless stagehands.
Their eyes stay closed and
his arm reaches up to her shoulder.
It sweeps itself down her arm
like water over a rock. When it reaches
her hand, their fingers catch each other.
The other arms wrap around
opposite torsos. They kneel.

The crowd watches, knowing
they donít really exist.
Some mothers get up and leave.
The young ones stay to watch.
The virgins blush, and the loose women
smile with familiarity. There is no sound.

The two in the limelight
are barely discernable as two.
Their white bodies now form
a mass on dusty stage, with heavy breaths
and sweaty palms embrace.
Their affinity conjoins
and breaks, reconnecting
and folding over itself,
toes curled and fingers stretched.
Her hair is tangled
with shoestuffs left from
previous performances.

He heaves a sigh, his last
expanding and rising; sheís
become four limbs
wrapped around him
before she stretches out beneath him.
They pant and whisper and breathe,
and the curtain bows before them,
velvet brick wall to hinder
peeking eyes. The crowd departs
without a word.

Behind the veil,
the two are standing up. He tries
to kiss her with closed eyes.
He catches her cheek and then
her shoulder blade as she turns
away. With watching eyes withdrawn,
she finds no reason.
"The" Man Onward it must go. 070710
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