Behind a post, up in the gods,
Feet by my teeth and knees tucked in.

Head near the ceiling, bag on lap,
I’m breathing fast, the air is thin.

Twisting hard to see the view
As music fades and lights are dimmed.

But I don’t care, as curtains rise,
A hush descends, the show begins.

In the West End tonight to see a show. This poem written in haste before we were told to turn our mobiles off.
(05.10.24)

© Ben Quant 2024