The Final Act Poem by Brian Rihlmann

The hands have vanished.
The puppets strewn carelessly,
laying about, sleeping,
as puppets are lazy when
no one is pulling their strings.

One awakes, tugs, and finding
her bondage ropes slack,
began to sing and dance.
Her voice awakens the others.
Some join her, singing,
dancing, celebrating.

Some begin climbing
their ropes, wondering
where they end.
Others play jump rope,
or swing from the rafters
competing to see
who can go higher.

A few cut their ropes
and dive to their deaths
from the stage.
One gathers discarded ropes
of the dead and builds a fence,
stands inside and says,
"This space is mine."
Some nod agreement,
while others hop the fence,
swinging their ropes menacingly.

Still others use their ropes
to tie others tight,
or even bind themselves
together, or separately.
A few make nooses
and hang themselves,
while others sit
watching the show,
smiling, laughing,
eating popcorn.