Behind A Curtain Cut Poem by James McLain

How do I get past the staged layers
with all of the clear curtains
seeing what goes on behind them.
Wigs, sheer vanity profiles the face
stays hidden it often beneath and paint.
To hide the cuts and bruises.
I would get up from my seat that sucks
me in and release it
but the audience would only, applaud.
I only feel bad for the woman, the men
do not have what I need.
What woman one does I know.
I wait behind the curtain, looking out
at all the faces as they try not to sweat.
As the light moves down across them,
they change seats with one another.
Switching masks with each other.
To disguise and cover up their fate.
For just that one moment when it rises and falls.
The orchestra is not privileged to see it.


c.e.mc.