"The Eighth Wonder of the World"

Twilight, the auditorium after the audience
shuffled out to stark cold cars.

Chill as those cars—dim as that stage
that turned over and took the red covers with it.

The frozen yard became the apron
where unmasked players sat in smoked breath.

I wandered without a cue, no mark
watching dark-fingered trees pull down pillows.

In the twilight, proof against the nocturnes
and pill against the dawn. Empty chains.

The velvet seats folded up like our knees,
losing heat rapidly, waiting for the gels to die.

The dust roosted, the janitorial staff
rose in the manner of streetlamps coming on.

‘Twas November twilight that killed the beast.
We struck the set at midnight.
Called time of death.
Went home.