Stage Fright

Could I
from yonder window
on stage
no more recall
where inexplicably
my legs
I slapped
to stimulate
the claps
of curtain calls.
How I
the curtain came
in dreams
without a clue
as to my role
facing cast
and hectic crew
the work of memory
I eschewed
to tan with lime
my vanity
bare yet meek
while plucking
flowers from the planks,
words forgotten
in my ears ring
mute embarrassed tones
with which I

Dr T.P. Wilkinson writes, teaches History and English, directs theatre and coaches cricket between the cradles of Heine and Saramago. He is also the author of Church Clothes, Land, Mission and the End of Apartheid in South Africa. Read other articles by T.P..