day/poem 30

(so, actually i got home in plenty of time, so here goes - last poem.  it's definitely been an experience.  i'm glad i did it, but not sorry it's over - some days it's been really horrible, posting stuff that i'd rather toss, but overall, at least it's got me writing. not sure i'll be doing it next year though...)

-- the end --

this is the end

the announcement comes over every loudspeaker

echoes out of each carefully hung tannoy

no urgency voiced but the implacability of the statement

brokers no argument

house lights go up, smooth, just as the curtain came down

red folds drape a velvet silence over what has just come to pass

as though it's not yet quite blatant enough

an usher approaches, pale hand stopping just short of meeting her

elbow as he pronounces again the end of the show

he is not unkind, but offers no apology

beneath the regulation gold braided cap, eyes waver for a second

momentarily bewildered at the final turn of events

switch back swift back to unflappable detachment

the rogue emotion a pirate flicker of comprehension

in the stonewall white noise of his professionalism

shuffling out into the light of a day she'd forgotten existed

she misses her jacket, sees it spread on the seat neighbouring her own

keeping its plush bulk warm as the hall sweated

from heated opening credits to infernal denoument

she cannot remember the film itself, only flashes of faces

contorted

cannot recall whether in pleasure or fear

cannot muster the energy to wonder at

she turns back to retrieve forgotten garment

meets barred doors, padlocked from without

whitewashed windows bearing no legend but 'closing down'

wiped clean across each entrance, entertaining no doubts

she blinks perplexity, eyelids rumble closed in perfect slow motion

vision clouds to black to mist and back, split second blindness

and second sight brings impossibility so sudden it is easier to dismiss

than believe - where film house stood now only derelict awning over

gaping maw where once through doors cinephiles poured

a crumbling stoop, and splinter framed emptiness

she counts the seconds she knows will lead to waking

nightmares, she snorts, become so banal

the stillness settles, waits in patience for her numbers to run out

she counts

dust collects around her stubborn lips, as the sun descends and horizon winks out

she counts

earth tremors, cries out, its death pains trivialising those of birth

she counts

the cold becomes all there is

stars stopped dying, all black holes filled

and silence no longer holds its breath

she counts until she doesn't

and every number ends

final beat skipped

and then