The State Theatre<\/p>\n
The traffic lights are a different
\nShade of green tonight,
\nAnd I lost my hat.
\nThe movie was so good,
\nIt was really long too, you said,
\nAnd maybe the seats were uncomfortable, too,
\nBut your hair wasn\u2019t in the way,
\nYour head beneath my neck.
\nThe balcony steps out and it takes time
\nTo learn the whole storyline,
\nThe movie better than I had expected.
\nI had to look twice,
\nTo see that you were crying,
\nAnd I cannot tell if my eyes
\nSaid they were sorry, or if my hands
\nHolding yours could draw down
\nThe curtains to stop the movie\u2014
\nI can\u2019t reach that high,
\nWith all this sore doubt, unable
\nTo bend my arms.
\nI am still under the flickering lights,
\nAnd you shiver to go home,
\nWalking four blocks away to your car\u2014
\nAnd I would hold your hand,
\nBut dad would definitely see,
\nAnd we wouldn\u2019t want that, would we?
\nA kiss on the forehead means so much;
\nStop spinning, my thumb spinning round
\nYours, no, my head, my thoughts
\nScattered on the ceiling, stop spinning.
\nYou knew I would hold
\nOpen the door for everyone,
\nThe stairs a clatter for escaping shoes.
\nPassing by the people
\nSmoking on the sidewalks,
\nYou said, let\u2019s be best friends,
\nBecause I don\u2019t care about
\nThe generic movies that everyone
\nIs angry that you haven\u2019t seen,
\nAnd you don\u2019t need popcorn
\nTo place in your heart a better
\nScene of the true stage directions to
\nActually make this night memorable;
\nSo why didn\u2019t I just kiss you?
\nThe rain after the show
\nSmoothened out the sky,
\nThe streets heavier with cold,
\nAnd the snow is receding, flattened, dirty,
\nMud sputtering from anxious tires blathering,
\nWith kids splashing in the puddles.
\nDad has never once asked
\nIf I am the man I ought to,
\nWith all these questions knocking:
\n\u201cWhere is she from\u2014didn\u2019t you say\u2014
\nWhy don\u2019t you take\u2014are you going to ask anyone\u2014
\nYou should buy her a corsage\u2014are you ignoring\u2014\u201d
\nPlease, stop lying, I tell myself, I shouldn\u2019t
\nGo on like a bloody rag doll.
\nHey, get up, that door will take you to Front Street,
\nRight on out\u2014the movie is over.
\nIs it the right time for me
\nTo ask you these questions
\nI\u2019m always guarding in my mind?
\nYou know this body is not my own,
\nThis painting in a frame still unfinished,
\nMy queue blurry and uncertain still,
\nThe movie still having a long way to go\u2014
\nBut please don\u2019t drop me, even if
\nYou have to go home for dinner
\nBecause your mom wants you back.
\nHey dad, I told myself we were
\nExactly like the two characters
\nFollowing that exact script in one of
\nMy favourite movies.
\nAnd now I understand why stage left
\nWasn\u2019t where my heart was,
\nAnd centre stage the audience is
\nAwaiting, expecting, pleading, worrying, gnawing
\nFor the moment for me to say and act
\nThose lines under the starlit stage\u2014
\nAnd who needs applause when holding
\nThat person\u2019s hand means so much more.
\nYou say, those aren\u2019t your lines,
\nIt doesn\u2019t matter, and I said
\nIf you want to cry on my shoulder, it\u2019s fine,
\nAnd I don\u2019t care about the ice that stiffens there,
\nNor do I care about the things
\nEveryone seems to say backstage
\nWhen you\u2019re front and centre,
\nBecause they just need to stop,
\nMy words cannot speak through my hands\u2014
\nAnd please don\u2019t demean yourself
\nFor being you, because I don\u2019t care
\nWhat the bloody world thinks of you,
\nJust being unjust.
\nAnd I\u2019m no critic to critique,
\nBut I don\u2019t want to be the clich\u00e9 line bound to fade,
\nAnd you can\u2019t go home without love;
\nI don\u2019t believe anyone can.
\nJust leave the poet inside your head,
\nYou told me, but I can\u2019t;
\nI saved you a seat up on the balcony,
\nThe red seats empty on the ground floor.
\nI had forgotten this name given me,
\nTill John said it in the aisle, and
\nIf only I could hear my character\u2019s name\u2014
\nNo, I need to say it myself,
\nSay that I am myself, me being me,
\nSay that the stars on the ceiling are not
\nA joke, not a hoax, allowing no vile darkness
\nIn the crowd, but a sign of
\nSomething I need to show the audience\u2014
\nThat I am not as lonely as a star.
\nI\u2019d rather hear you talk to me
\nAll night, than hear myself talk to thick darkness.
\nThe fake step at the bottom
\nOf the stairs is after my ticket,
\nUseless, but a stub, and will you slip
\nBefore me? Please don\u2019t break her heart,
\nI\u2019m a fool with a hammer and glue
\nTo try and fix things as such,
\nBut a fool needn\u2019t know how
\nTo draw a smile upon your face.
\nThis night, I am waiting, watching,
\nThe clock tower obscured in the dusk,
\nAnd I never watched your car leave,
\nBut dad turns on the radio,
\nThe river below the lot a glossy ink,
\nAnd let\u2019s just leave, dad, just let me sleep\u2014
\nI don\u2019t want dinner when we go home, dad,
\nBut thank you though, let\u2019s go in.
\n\u201cSir, it\u2019s not a heart that I am looking for
\nIn the lost-and-found.
\nOh, never mind me, thank you, I found it.\u201d
\nDad, I love how homely and luminous
\nThe flashing theatre lights seem to dance
\nAbout in the street shadows,
\nAnd the weary black letters
\nLook like a gathering plea to come
\nAnd relax, the velvet chairs always
\nVacant somewhere to watch a fine show;
\n\u201cIt\u2019s great\u2014\u201d
\nI breathe, in the ashen, smoky, Front Street air,
\n\u201cIt\u2019s great at the State.\u201d
\nHey, there\u2019s wind down the curb,
\nBrisk, invisible, borrowing the sound,
\nAnd all I can ask is to go take a stroll down Cass Street;
\nBut I worry, dad, why was it so
\nCold to her, yet just plain to me\u2014
\nThis exiled wind?
\nOh, I don\u2019t need to know, dad,
\nYou don\u2019t have to think so hard for an answer,
\nBut I found my hat inside
\nAfter the show, you know;
\nI just wish she had her own. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
The State Theatre The traffic lights are a different Shade of green tonight, And I lost my hat. The movie was so good, It was really long too, you said, And maybe the seats were uncomfortable, too, But your hair wasn\u2019t in the way, Your…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":281,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-12076","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-marathon-poem"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/12076","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/281"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=12076"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/12076\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":12096,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/12076\/revisions\/12096"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=12076"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=12076"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=12076"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}