Friday, July 20, 2012

The Subject Was Roses

You hear a lot of these stories
About actors who had to choose
Between the theater
And something else
And ended up choosing the theater

Well I didn’t

I chose the something else

The last show I was in  wasn’t that long ago
2009—The Subject Was Roses

Then my wife said, ‘Enough’
‘Time to get a real job’

Because she’d read some article somewhere
About all these regional theaters going under
And she was worried about my lack of job security

I told you when you’re an artist
There’s never security
So she made me stop being an artist
And start being a championship poker player

Believe it or not, she considered that
Less risky

So now, when I’m not betting my entire life
On whether or not somebody has a four of diamonds
I’m sitting on my porch
Drinking a beer
Thinking about theater

I won’t say it’s all I think about
Because I have kids
Kids with braces
A wife who seems determined
To have more kids
Than the mother on The Waltons
And a house
That will never, ever be fully paid for
Or restored

So I think about all that
And then I think about theater

You know, I gave it up a few times on my own
And when it was my decision
It was pretty easy

But having someone make you do it
Is just…

It’s a whole different thing

I drink a beer
I hear crickets in the yard
I realize it’s three am
And I’m wide awake
Mouthing lines to plays
I was never even in

It’s like I’m haunted
Not necessarily by what I miss
But by the decision itself

I feel like I abandoned something

A child or…

Never mind, that sounds crazy

And does it hurt?

It doesn’t hurt
That’s the thing
It really doesn’t

It just pulls at you
The way, I don’t know
The way a little kid
Would tug on your arm
To get your attention

Theater—it…tugs on my arm

It says ‘Where’d you go?  Why’d you leave?
When are you coming back?’

And I just keep saying—

‘I don’t know…’

I don’t know

No comments:

Post a Comment