Fifth Row, Centre Aisle Poem by Roy Johnson

Fifth row, centre aisle,
the best seat in the house.
The seat with the best view
of all that happens on stage.
The seat where the clean shaven,
sandy haired man sat
to watch the hero and heroine
and enjoy opening night of
‘The Asylum'.

The hero and heroine,
all dressed in white,
entertained and, at times,
enthralled the audience
who applauded generously
at the end of each act.

The critics were impressed
but to a smaller extent
through the first two acts.
The person in the fifth row, centre aisle,
sat silent throughout other than the constant,
nervous, running of his fingers
through his hair and over his mouth.

Near the end of act three,
the finish of the opening performance,
the person in the fifth row, centre,
his appearance now changed
with darkened hair and a bushy moustache,
jumped from his seat,
raced down the aisle,
leapt onto the stage
and attacked the two white robed performers.

The audience gasped, then turned silent
a scream was heard, then quiet,
the critics stopped writing, stunned.
On stage a short, vicious fight ensued
then the three antagonists
hugged and fell to the floor.

Red splotches were appearing on the white robes
and on the stage floor as the curtain closed.
The audience applauded loudly,
the critics scribbled laudedly
and all waited, expectantly.

A minute later the curtain opened
for curtain call with the
white robed hero and heroine
standing either side of the interloper.
The blood red colour was spreading on the robes,
the stage was becoming a slippery red
as the three bowed.

As the curtain closed for the final time
the interloper stood tall
supporting the white robed figures
slumping slowly to the ever reddening stage floor.

Tumultuous applause, whistles and cheers
for the makeup artists, the costume manager,
the stage crew and the prop manager
masked the sound of sirens in the distance.