It's the weekend matinee
So she slips the silver off her finger and reserves an entire aisle to herself
People complain in different languages
I can see their thorns
But we can’t arrest a paying customer
I bill thirty eight seats to
‘L. Skyscraper’
I wonder what the L stands for
She picks a suit to escort her
There is always a new suit
And beside her they look like sheepish insects clinging to a dashboard
I admire their tender display of desperation
At least it’s honest
After the second movement just before the harps solo
She requests a single cup of scorching hot water
And I move heaven and earth
to take it to her
W a t e r boy!
That’s my name
for the night
And her wish
is my command
But I’m not alone
Everyone finds themselves
compromised when she arrives
You wanna know her signature seal of approval?
A slight spasm of the right eye
To be honest
I’ve never seen it myself but
last Autumn when Iverh, our house conductor
turned around to greet a standing ovation for an interpolation of Gorecki’s Symphony no.2
There she was
Under a tiger lily hue
With hands high in praise
And an eye twitching to the clutter of a clapping crowd
Iverh fainted a few moments later
Falling on the first violins, violin
and snapping it’s cherry wooden neck
He woke with an inaudible embarrassment
but no one
not even the first violin caused a scene
We all just impatiently waited for words to roll of his tongue hoping he could spare any small detail about what the other side was like
when he woke
He called it
Le petit mort
I make my way to the staff kitchen,
dab my key fob at the temperamental tech
and fill the kettle to the top
I am her waterboy
I got a job to do
I swing open the mouldy cupboard where I keep the mug she likes
the only mug she’ll drink from
But peeling paint stares back at me
The corner is naked
And theres no room for cordiality
Fuck!
Where the fucks the mug?!
In the key of my beating heart I play the kitchens chords
Plucking lonely tupperware and secret santa relics from their shelves
Discordant notes thrashing around in my big mouth
I sound like reality tv
But no one is making any money
The producers certainly don’t trust me
And I can just about keep the viewers entertained
I pour the hot water on the floor and thaw my daydreaming
Am I…free?
Or am I just a kid on minimum wage
The solo is almost over
The solo isn’t coming back
