The Minutiae of Playhouse Days

The Minutiae of Playhouse Days

 

Mum swapped Eastenders

for the West End when she

realised film and TV were

stupid.

 

Disneyfied days became

dentist trips to matinees,

filling my mouth with

overpriced ice cream instead of

chewing classroom crayons.

 

We take the Starlight Express from

Upminster and diffuse suspicions

of my dwindling tuition with

handwritten letters,

“Her teeth are really bad!”  

 

Sniffing the spine

of the silky programme,

I paw the pages with glee,

Mum pats the folds of my pinafore

and reads with me, before the curtain

is pulled off like a velvet tablecloth.

 

Maestro meets machine in a

kaleidoscope of piano keys and dreams

I’ve dreamed, elephants storm

through the stalls and spiders crawl

the stage of Middle Earth

and I almost forget I’m supposed to

be spelling the word ‘tarantula’,

when Mrs Kent taps her ruler

on my table and asks,

“Are your teeth feeling okay?”

 

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