The Play Has Closed
Broadway at its finest hour,
Set designs built true to life,
Cast of five was my own family,
Actors played against each other,
Spoke their lines so loud and clear,
Cries and sobs were all authentic
From Act I.
Tension held the play together.
Dad, the drunkard, was the star.
Mom directed each performance
Grandma stood backstage and watched,
Standing in when someone flubbed.
Neal and I were scared, yet spellbound
In bit parts.
Mom, the victim underneath
Didn't really choose her role.
Her dad had left his little girl—
She planned her life accordingly
And wed a man she would control.
She wrote the script but gave him lines
He couldn't read.
He always seemed to miss his cue.
He never made the dinner scenes,
But left the stage for bars and booze,
Mom just scheduled more rehearsals.
"Practice harder," she would plead.
But when liquor blurred Dad's mind,
Emotions charged the lonely theater,
Layered in the wings like fog.
Sadness ate right through our costumes,
Through our hearts.
As the play began unraveling,
Characters confused and dazed,
Drama turned to tragedy:
Troupe was doomed.
Still auditioning chorus girls,
Dad picked one and ran away.
Mom, alone and struck with stage fright,
Found his clone.
Even though a true professional,
She still missed her leading man.
Rejection set the stage for
Mom's death scene.
Dad was on the road for years.
We heard his new show was a flop.
Neal died in a fiery crash,
The last run was years ago.
I'm the only player left.
But those restless ghosts forever
Haunt my soul.