WAITING FOR MY HONEY IN FRONT OF THE SENATOR THEATER
On the theater’s door
a few written words,
“This Theater Will Be Closed
Until A Run On Sentences
The leather chairs
varnish their legs.
A thick green compensates
carpets and cashier.
No coming attractions, instead a slat
beneath a portrait with one eye
No mints either,
just the smell of insatiable consequence.
As if the balcony stairs could be arrogant
or led away.
— by Colin James
Copyright © 2015, by Colin James. All Rights Reserved.
Colin James has a chapbook of poems, A THOROUGHNESS NOT DEPRIVED OF ABSURDITY,
out from Pski’s Porch Press. http://www.pskisporch.com/?page_id=139