The Land of Ice and Vine: Poems

Shakespeare in Southampton

Fade in. London evening.

He steps in from the drizzle,

shaking his black brolly

his dark hair, heavy lamb's curls

glisten under the track lighting

Intercepted by the hostess

he is led through an obstacle course

of trendy diners

and their even trendier dates

to where I'm sitting

my second drink

already warm in my hands

Superimposed on music. Lights dim.

He apologizes with a ready kiss

for his unavoidable delay

and turns his attentions to

the elegantly printed menu

Suddenly, a curtain parts, and

his peasant features

so out of place

in West End theatres and at Kensington Parties

(where he hides away his real accent

in favor of another)

become his singular means 

of expression

Later. Underscored with desperation.

With a slight smile and a modest tilt of the head

he talks loosely of his latest project

a bit of Shakespeare in Southampton

a little something that sounds quite promising

But through the sharp, white china

gutted rolls

and wrung twists of lemon,

I can hear the message he is sending

I can hear it in the tap of his fingers

as he lights the first of many cigarettes

a light tattoo of need

of too many years spent alone

A message that, with all his memorized 

lines and rehearsed scenes

he never can quite

manage

to speak aloud

Fade out. Brightest London night.

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This poem I wrote at some point during university. It won one of the Academy of American Poets awards for my state, and is my only contest winner. :-)