The Actor Poem by Michael Troy Buffo

His life on stage was peace of mind,
A blessing now you seldom find
If you ask him what's his cause
He'll tell you it's to cause applause

The theatre is his home,
A place he lives to be
And when he's in front of people,
He thinks he's truly free

He recites Shakespeare for his own enjoyment
And the annoyance of his friends
He reads a script and smokes a pipe
Which contains his favorite blends

Opening night! The houselights dim!
Who's on stage? You know it's him!
Is he nervous? You can't tell:
Maybe he is and disguises it well

Second weekend - Rave reviews!
It's in the papers and on the news
Dozens of roses, bottles of wine
Autograph-hounds waiting in line

He downs his drink and does a spoon
He steps outside, the women swoon
He dashes to his limo
Locks the doors without delay
Waves at his fans,
The car speeds away

It seems that he's forgotten
What he first set out to do
Which was to entertain us,
The likes of me and you

For him it was a short trip
On the road to fortune and fame
And we must all remember,
That we're the ones to blame