After the Art Show

I pressed my face against
the glass. Where a darkened room
hid the art I longed to see.
My fingers tapped on the clear
surface, my gaze drifting
to the locked door. Why
had I waited so long?
I turned from the unlit
room, dragging my feet
through the atrium. Each
step echoed against the linoleum.

From the Auditorium

Thrift shop dresses,
department store sandals,
cordless mics dependent
on old batteries.
For weeks words have been rehearsed,
feet stepped to the right,
now to the left.
Lights dimmed to coordinate
with an automated orchestra.
No soul is allowed to leave.
Each voice, each body
depends on the other.
The missing element
is yet to come,
when those who fill hard chairs
clasp their hands
and raise their eyebrows,
the miracle that is called
theatre will have been
performed.