House Opens at 19:00

I wrote this poem in response to the imminent return of live-theatre productions after months of closed doors.

Shut doors. Shuttered windows.
A crimson glow clings like my dreams 
To the walls of my second homes - 
A new red-light district in London: 
The West-end with a broken heart.
The Globe, The Almeida, The Royal Court Theatre 
To name but a few for a start.

Post-apocalyptic streets
Of a city that hustles and bustles 
With rustles of paper
From audiences' programme’s pages
Being turned, are now silent.
And Box Office dealings of last-minute tickets
Lie sleeping, awaiting our artistic spirits.

But in the low gloom and saddening doom
Of this abyssal tunnel
Is a welcome and familiar glow:
An uncomfortably warm sight – the limelight, the spotlight
Will shine bright.
Down comes the house light.
Curtains rise to new heights.
Actors tread boards again: up-stage and down,
Critics once more don their typical frowns.

The world will breathe again.
Theatre will live again.
More vibrant and exciting than before.

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