He stands smiling infront of the eager audience

That had actually paid to see him perform

His mimicry, his jokes and the classic risqué songs.

He could have sold out for weeks as his talent at the time was unsurpassed

Holding them spellbound as each well-worked line was cast.

 

His battered bowler hat, tipped towards the ladies on purpose

And slightly covering the blood shot eye (but not the saucy grin)

That had appeared after a drunken night

In which he had forgotten the punch line

When he finally realised that not everything was fine.

 

The audience laughed, some even hollered and cheered

And stood clapping at the end

With their fine tailored suits and iron pressed features

As strange foul smelling cigars wafted their generous poison on stage

Making him cough, trapped in a dank smoky cage.

 

He sits as his beloved Music Hall, full of other people’s memories is pulled down

And a tear is shed for a long-forgotten gag

That would have killed them in his day

And as all the bricks, rubble and left over stains are removed

He finds his recollections, strangely smoothed.

 

Ian D. Hall

This is a re-working of a poem that was published in 2004 in The International Who’s Who In Poetry.