Poem of the Day

The Poem of the Day

hides in the wings breathing,
checking the shine on his boots.
The poem of the day waits
for his friend to stop yammering
in the green light of the stage.

He turns to his images:
a glass of tea sweats on a side table,
a tired waitress sleeps on the floor,
a hawk floats above in the dark.
The applause dies.

"Good job, pal," he mutters
as the other poem passes
into the darkness of the wings.

The announcer takes the stage.
The poem stubs his cigarette
nudges the waitress with his boot
and walks into the light.