My ten-minute sonnet about a four-day set that had three performance and one day to take it all down!
10 12-foot walls aligned and painted white:
a canvass where another world can grow.
The green and pink and brown are layered right;
200 stencils, tired hands to show.
The set is done, a miracle, and now
the players take the stage to solve a crime.
Our curtain closes; with the final bow
A sense of sadness, was it wasted time?
The Monday comes, a sort of somber day
where we destroy the place that we called home.
No matter what, it wasn't just a play,
much more than that, we lived: la vie boheme.
The stage is clear and back to its black walls,
no trace of what we made here, in the fall.
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