Have I been here before,
Under the limes?
The brush sweeps sighs
Behind me, wooden footfalls echo
Into the density of crushed
Red velvet seating.
Plinkerty-plank-plonk,
Boney tendrils find a drunk man
Blundering his way home,
Gone midnight, wet and sorry.
The audience having left, amused
But ultimately dissatisfied.
The limes ghost across the blackened stage.
The black piano grins, then laughs,
A breathless wind across the strings at last,
For I have left the building.
I used to work in a theatre, back stage and sometimes working the spotlights (the "limes") from the back of the auditorium. I always liked the theatre best when it was empty, after a show. I thought it always had an eerie atmosphere - an emptiness that echoed with the recent activity of a performance.