Illinois Reparatory Theatre, Summer Stock production of ‘Waiting for Godot’, Opening Night, Backstage, Boy waits for his cue.
Lisa asks me how much time we have left
and Kathryn barks FIFTEEN TO CALL,
her voice breaking through the stage left door.
Mr. Godot will…uh…—shit, what’s my line?
I’m pacing through the green room, peeking on-stage,
the lights from the audience are still on…just, wait.
Kathryn is still watching me, To wait,
To sleep no more, she jokes, turning left
Toward the dressing room, the scent of stage
Make-up powdered in the thin corridor. CALL
IN TEN, she repeats, I’m going over lines
passing between the bathroom and door.
Kathryn’s in the booth now, the stage right door
propped open, I have at least another minute. I wait
until the door closes, and trying not to forget my line.
The night will pass as any other, nothing left
for correction, I say to myself, or reason to call
home, rambling how I was never meant for the stage.
Soon, I imagine, I will stage
some fantastic outdoor
full with two-hour wait,
no tickets left,
the audience filing in line…
If only I could remember my first line.
Lisa is onstage,
now, I’m left
alone near at the door.
until my call.
the green call
light triggers, my line
in my head, wait,
which side of the stage
do I enter on, which door?
From behind the tree, or on the left?
I can’t wait, it’s call.
stage left, I know my line
backstage, I move toward the door.