Stage right was your destination
Yet you found me behind the props,
Behind the cardboard masks and bow ties
Left over from my previous illness.
I thought it random but you thought it out
As you followed your map and met me at a flagpole
That turned out to mark a crater painted in doubt.
Stage left me out of here
And refund the audience for their tickets;
They thought the production was Love Story but
All they got was stale popcorn, glimpses of
My bruised legs and mind, and
Glimpses of me in front of the curtain.
©2013 Christy Birmingham