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 author of Unbecoming American: A War Memoir and also Church Clothes, Land, Mission and the End of Apartheid in South Africa. Read other articles by T.P..