He is the bystander
watching as the words drop
to meander amongst the
audience
when the show ends
he becomes
deactivated
demotivated
putting away his thoughts of the day
and those wallowing’s of his following
on social media sites.

The hundreds of nights before and the
ones that will come
stun
his senses,

sidestepping the tut tutting,
the mutterings of the jealous
and the old press cuttings that
fall from a drawer to remind him
of a time when
he wasn’t as good as he
would become
he sees the sun rise over the Olivetti,
a ribbon trails across the floor.

An age is upon him
wearing the old bones
thin.

fin.
© 2017, John Smallshaw.