Opening night has arrived, people flow through the doors,
Some enter by twos, others stroll in by fours.
The ushers take tickets, show folks to their seats,
While backstage three actors are pressing their pleats.
The lead singer has thrown up, her partner is teary,
A guitarist’s string breaks, he’s feeling quite leery.
The stage manager is working as fast as he’s able:
“This wall won’t stay up…What’s that glop on the table?”
The orchestra tunes by the stage, in the pit:
“Can you give me an A?” “My fingernail’s split!”
“My legs are all shaky!” “My head’s spinning around!”
“Is this the right script?” “My red wig’s on the ground!”
From makeup to wardrobe to libretto to score
They rush here, they run there, they trip over the floor.
“I can’t wear this costume, my sleeve won’t stay on!”
“Am I in the first scene? My memory is gone!”
At five minutes ’til curtain the lead actor’s heart races,
The conductor is ready, the director shouts “places!”
There’s one final light check and everything’s set:
This show is as good as it’s going to get.
The house lights grow dim as stage lights come up bright:
The audience is hushed, they expect a great sight.
The overture begins with a strum of the harp,
The music is gorgeous, the conductor is sharp.
In a matter of seconds the show has begun.
The actors are splendid, the singers are one.
In two hours it’s over and to everyone’s delight
The critics adore it, the producers lose their fright.
The crowd roars with praise, there’s a standing ovation,
While the tech crew cleans up, the cast crows with elation.
Mishaps are forgotten: this is now, that was then…
And soon they all shout: “We should do this again!” – Pamela Ross
Pamela Ross is a frequent contributor. Comments on this piece can be sent to: current@hudsonreporter.com. Send us your essays or poems too.