Being Thirty Eight

Now that I am thirty eight (just this month)
it’s probably time I got my thing in
gear; or at least to some extent, figured
out what role it is I tried out for, since
it’s obvious at this point that the play
is into its second act, and it looks
like I got the part.

Not too sure right now
if it’s a walk-on or one of the leads,
but I seem to have a whole lot of lines
for somebody who’s just going to die off
in the middle of scene seven or eight.

It’s also not too clear whether this thing
is completely scripted as yet; feels like
a dress rehearsal at times, and then not.

Based on simple math, I can figure out
I’m not the suave young romantic rebel
who’s destined to lose his ideals en route
to some pie-in-the-sky notion of love;
also, the blocking leads me to believe
I’m not looking back and reflecting on
a span of years spent wasted in business
or watching my great beauty fade and dim.

So what’s my motivation, Strasberg?
My inner turmoil seems to be working
itself out; and angst is so hard to fake.

I worry that somewhere deep in Act Five
I’ll be dancing wild jigs across the lawn
and laughing. I’ll admit, not too worried.

It is a damn good part, no matter what.
And my co-stars are a dream to work with.

18 JAN 2003

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