After the Theatre


Vacating your seat, you too
can make language move:
so, elbowing to the exit
is the camaraderie of culture,
your carriage waits in the stack,
concrete pillars are Corinthian columns,
and driving up the greasy ramp,
an exhilarating surge of metaphor.

In the side-streets of reality,
you devastatingly refute Eliot:
it’s all architectured down to size;
the sky’s a renaissance ceiling
you could easily paint on your back,
to one of Mozart’s greatest hits.

Oh, the puddled swish of driving home
in the rain, beside yourself with optimism,
finding all these original thoughts
weaving through the slums,
like beauty in rained-on mascara!

And reaching home, how can you not
admire the castle of your own routine
that is better than no slippers and
no cooking-for-one-smells in the right place
with the photographs at your bedside,
to remind you you won’t be alone
in the bed you’ve made properly
for your fierce contentment?

Clearly, you’ve left Uncle Vanya sobbing
back at the theatre, and quite understandably,
you’ve forgotten why he was.


© Nemo 2023
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critique and comments welcome.
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Wierd again, no comments for this great writing. Well you have one now Gerald, I loved it. Lots to enjoy in its complexed story, it’s all here… the joy and the sadness “in the bed you’ve made properly for your fierce contentment”.


Well Mike, the reason that there were no comments could well be that, as the piece was originally posted on UKA in 2015, people still remember it. You commented favourably on it first time round.
I can concur with your view that it is great writing.
Best wishes to you and Gerald of course.


Very accomplished poetry. Good read indeed.

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