A poem inspired by my week of wine, writing, and secret Shakespeare.
The play has been wrought, the scene has been set,
I’ve bled all my thought, but they seem to forget.
“Live theatre, what’s that? I’ll catch it +1.
I’ll watch at the back of the bus on my phone.”
Live theatre! I cry! Why don’t you see?
You’re mumbling and spluttering but you’re not looking at me.
I’m up here, then I tell them, not there in your hand,
how long can you bury your head in the sand?
Real people are here, without watching 3D,
do you forget who you are, who you wanted to be?
You’re way too caught up in the lives on the screen,
you check who you are but you’ve already been.
By the time you look up from the pad, from the phone,
your kids have grown up, moved away, you’re alone.
But you got what you wanted, did nothing to stop it,
your past and your life is right there in your pocket.
You say your mates are around, but you’ve gotta be quick.
They don’t care for you now, they’ve got the new iPhone 6.