The Merely Player

Atop a grave sits a black cat.
It’s the grave of a man
Who sold yards of fabric
To ladies with flower hats.

It’s not much of a sight
Except for the astral drama
That’s staged around sunset.
You may not know the tragic story.

A mysterious sky teases the crowd
With its leg kicks,
Its white blouse and black bra
In the dusty spotlight beam,

While insurance men in the orchestra pit
Come for the kinetic wristwatch,
The family bible, the hope chest.
A technician in the flyloft

With his view downstage pulls the ropes.
A great show, even if it pained the neck
To keep looking up. And waiting
Under the trapdoor was the man himself,

Seller of fabric to ladies,
Still nervously memorizing lines.
And his cat, which was just then
Pawing at a bouquet of paper roses.