Intermission

Nothing serious today - still recovering from a hangover and stress is sapping my creative energy. Here's a bit of nonsense. 

The jaunty tune strikes up,
The curtain falls.
There isn't anything left to say.
But I'll describe it anyway.

You'll go outside for a time,
Step outside the theatre.
Stretch your legs,
tea, coffee.

There's this feeling, though.
The feeling of the penultimate.
You've started something that you have to finish.
But you've stepped outside, for a time.

And then, inexorably,
completely, totally,
you're drawn back in
and you take your seat once more.

And the curtain comes up,
and the tune fades,
and the actors resume,
and you wouldn't have it any other way.

It's possible to leave during the interval,
But nobody ever does.
And if they do, well -
they're as good as dead to you.