Theatrics

Two steps forward, one step back,
then a sideways lurch. A comedian
performing an unconvincing impression
of a drunk.

I fear he might be ill,
having a heart attack.

Oh no. Am I going to have to
go down and check he's alright.
Perhaps he'll need an ambulance.
I'll have to wait with him for hours.

But he makes it across.
Sits on the kerb. Groans,
moans a little, lies back,
half of him on the pavement.
Legs in the road.

Voices off:
Someone shouting.

A man arrives wearing
tiny bright red shorts,
sandals, no shirt,
urges his semi-conscious mate
to follow him up the hill,
perhaps to the hotel that's up there.
Or to the campsite.

'Get up. You can't stay here.
Come on. Come on.'
Much to my relief
he does get up. A slow
process but he manages it.
I don't watch them go.

I can still hear them though
(arguing? cursing?)
as they leave the stage;
voices becoming fainter
and slowly evaporating
as they exit up the hill.

Show over.
I know just what to do.
I get comfy on my sofa
and write a bad review.