like some badge of honour?
And yes, I could not note your
stirring, stirring, stirring,
if I did not see it in myself…
Creating this dolls’ theatre in our mind,
allotting all the minor parts
to those we think we know,
reserving to ourselves
the role of the protagonist,
and the dramatist as well:
keeping the action going,
sudden feuds and gracious relinquishing,
enemies inflated, lovers too,
claims and counterclaims,
abuse poured on abuse,
fragile allegiances made and unmade,
clowns and ghosts and retributions,
heroes and villains in quick costume change,
larger than life creations empty of heart or mind,
like some gaudy set of children’s shaped balloons;
if you had written it, but with more grace,
we might applaud it; but you pretend
to live it, foist this empty play upon us;
it is untimely; we yawn, hate, doze,
and carefully tipping up our seats,
leave your theatre quietly and early,
treading the carpeted aisle,
outside the clattered exit doors
breathing the fresh air of actuality,
happy to rediscover life.
If this gaudy fool’s cap fits,
then wear it, or forswear it;
mine’s there, hanging on the peg.