The theatre had changed
for the monkeys had gone home.
No more clapping in unison,
no more imitation
For love was more than faux baubles.
The mardi gras of the soul,
a lone king with a violin and his pint of ale.
And the script, too, had changed-
To be of a place only on a stage
where the words ‘I love you’ meant a revision.
Another script, another blundering of words,
another past life being corrected with commas
and most of all, dashes-
preparing for the great pause.
And how would you read that line-
or would you prefer not to read it?