ACTING UP

At the Coolidge theater
watching Woody
and being shamed
at a laughing twink
in the next seat
having returned home
to for late rehearsal
and a soft drink
with only a caretaker's
kindness for an understudy
who writes graffiti
without regret
on the laundry wall
that he is a jinx
in my kitchenette
his language is not rough
now lemon cough dropped
in a larynx of his lines
newly rehearsed
after five hours of exhaustion
to ask in a calm voice
if there is any more of a curse
before tomorrow's performance
until two wineglasses appear
now broken in the nook
there can be no chance bitterness
unless my play be mute
and all engaged voices
are on remote.