One Woman Show

(Act I.)

every morning

The Show

is refreshed.

Better acts, Bigger finishes.

every Audience leaves impressed.

They must be.

Bright light

(stage left)

Trumpets! It begins!

the master of ceremonies announces from backstage

a human cannonball

becomes a trapezist

while swallowing flames, now

she cycles and sings while juggling snakes!

she drops one.

she grins through it all.

The Show must go on!

she cannot bear to

put on something small.

yet if you take your time, and

watch two, three, four more times

you might notice a thing or two

about our one-woman show.

you see,

each performance

slowly

slowly

chips away at our master of ceremonies -

no, she’s our trapezist, no

no, unicyclist -

you get what I mean,

and if you take your time, and

take a look behind

the curtain after bows

you might see our performer

heavily breathing,

heart must be racing,

bandaging her wounds.

Drops of blood and your applause

are her trophies,

so many rewards.

she wipes a tear, winces,

“oh dear,”

(p)repairing herself for another.

tomorrow, a New Crowd

New People to please.

such is the fate of our one-woman show

(Exit stage right.)