The play is different, with a different title
and script. The actors for the last one
all took off their makeup and collected their pay
and went home. The audience, too. Their discarded
programs and candy wrappers
were all swept away. The costuming
is new as well--the old wardrobe
was worn threadbare by the last
several productions and it's all been thrown
out. We got new actors and sold new tickets
and we've been rehearsing for months
for a brand new play.
Everything is different except
the sets. The stage designers
all disappeared in the night, and took their paint
and hammers; we don't even have any sheets
to hang over their plywood
incongruities. We're doing new scenes
on old scenery and I hope to god the guy
from the paper thinks it's avant garde;
I just think it's strange. We open tomorrow
and I keep missing my cues and reciting lines
that I thought I forgot, that I should have forgotten
a whole season ago. They don't belong here. I
don't belong here either.