Theatre Of Dreams

Where the scene cracks and
shifts back to a scarred and
blurred black-and-white link
of the years in caricature –
sound out of sync, where images
jerk and flick on a screen stretched
tight in composite dreams.

Where we sat said who we were
in the theatre of dreams,
who we cheered,
who we revered,
who we shared
our bag of sweets with, and in
the years that dimmed the
sharp wanting we still see
clearly an usherette’s torch
stabbing the dark, marking
miscreants with an indelible
beam.

There is no going back.
Our dearest days rest rowdily
on the floor in a pile of Jaffa’s
mischievously spilled in the aisle.
© I.D. Carswell 2007-02-07