| No. 5 (i am an opera) | ||||
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I am an opera playing all the parts, except the lover. That's you, poor thing, tied to a railroad track, (I tied you) and then released (I saved you) But only after I stuffed the villain, (that's me too) up some god's stove pipe to scream the everlasting inferno, as the heroine, (oh dear god, that's me) sobbed glorious grief and the clown-- and I don't mean a Shakespearean wise guy but a sitting on a cactus, pratfall-kind-of-twit-- (unfortunately, most unfortunately, also me) laughed in the wrong place, confusing everyone. Meanwhile, you're wondering, out loud, I must add, how in the hell you got into this play. You don't remember auditioning and you never saw the script. "Take off all those costumes," you say, voice booming, crescendo, crescendo, upstage, downstage, and on to the grave of Verdi, "Stop those damn arias and get some rhythm 'n blues in here." Looking at me and me and me and me, your voice cracks like a squeaky door and you sigh at your undeserved fate. |
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