[poem about life in the form of a play]
by robert castillo
From the time the curtains lifted, we were Romantics. We saw cars, spaceships, and boats in what our parents called a “box.” We didn't step on cracks, lest we wanted to burden our mothers with years of pain and medical bills.
Our imaginations ran wild. Our lives were full of wondrous things.
Enter formal education (stage left). From here on out we are told the “proper” way of doing things. “Hold your pencil like this.” “Respond in this fashion.” “Follow these codes of conduct and you’ll live in a three story house with 2.67 children who will then do the exact same thing you did for the benefit of a CEO who you’ll never meet and couldn't give a rat’s ass if your grandmother died, you haven’t met your quota.”
Our imaginations grew lonely. Tired and cold, what was once Companion Imagination became Estranged Acquaintance.
Intermission
Not many stay after intermission. Disheartened, they decide to return to three story house and 2.67 children to continue doing the same thing until the day the curtains close. Retirement? In this economy?
Intermission comes at different times for different people. Most commonly referred to as a “Mid-Life Crisis,” the majority of our fellow actors and actresses realize the absurdity of it all once they’re “over the hill.”
For some, the realization comes much sooner. For others, it never does.
Act II: Awakening
As the curtains open again, the path back toward Romanticism begins. “Full circle” is what some call it. Discontent with a three story house and 2.67 children sets in. Not that they don’t love their family, no no no. The thought is more elegantly put: who the hell decided things should be like this?
Thus the climax. Those who stayed past intermission begin to experience life. Travel, risk, fear, adventure, impulse and other adjectives begin to define their lives. They climb mountains just for the hell of it. They run a marathon because, well, why not? What once was a drama transforms into a saga. Imagination takes residence in our minds once again, grinning ear-to-ear as she unpacks her bags.
The denouement. The actors and actresses, suffering from the same ailment any living thing experiences, begin to wither. It’s not that life becomes less enjoyable, no no no. Life merely becomes more serene, more soothing, more calm. They begin to see the world as they did in the beginning. Their rocking chair, a soothing sailboat. Birds chirping, the soundtrack of nature. Their box, a portal the the next life.
[Critique is more than welcome. I'm in a creative writing class this term and would like it workshoped before we workshop in class. Many thanks in advance.]