The Clap

This is my very first ever poem, read at Auntie Mae's Mighty Fine Poetry Night.

THE CLAP

Do you hate clapping at the end of plays?

Man I do!

It's not like I don't want to give the actors their praise.

These plays are always so awe inspiring

Knowing how much work they put in... How Tiring

Hell I clap after anything with an intermission

Monty Python and the Holy Grail, the disc changes for LOTR

The brief awkward pauses when you switch out discs for an audio book

But much like church when they tell you. “All Rise”

Suddenly, blood rushes to your feet all pins and needles it hits your thighs

Wait 2 more songs before we can sin again

2 more songs before we can dive into gluttony at what ever all you can eat buffet

This is how it goes at any play

Lights all dim and you know its the end but here they come

Stage hands... sure give them their props for the props am I right

Normal clapping

Next up all the actors you weren't watching the ones that made up the scenery

Hands are getting warm

Still more it's the section B group the supporting players

Really getting that mix of tingling and discomfort going on now

Oh here come the actors obviously paired for importance of roles

First out means least recognized

Thought crosses your mind, I wasted the good clap on the props directors

2 more

God damn my hands hurt

2 more

Realize I've been sitting for far to long

There's only so many times you can cross and un cross your legs

Specially when that bald dick in front of you kept glaring at you for kicking his chair

not that I'd care

Sorry I'm a giant you hairless homunculus

2 more

Oh shit that's your friend the one you came to see

but now your hands are numb bits of meat

you want to stand and let them know you thought they were great

Theater curtsy dictate

that act waits till the end

So you wait 4 more pass the stage

and now they are all holding hands... awww

They bow and this my friends

This is where like in the last lap of a race

You give it your all

You holler and clap the truth of real pain crosses your face

Fuck my hands hurt

You start to stand

Oh wait no one else is standing yet everyone's just …DAMN IT

looking

waiting

We clap for the band

No one wants to be first

And for the director under my breath I curse

Dear god I have rare steaks for hands and aching legs I'm going to stand

Lights go dim

stuck there clapped out half up from your chair

Actors exit stage left the awkward giant at which they all stare

waiting for others to file out

Slowly you rise Like dough in an oven, secured in an uncomfortable sona

and now more waiting off to the back to congratulate the actors

Hey there great job, oh that one scene was wonderful, loved your portrayal

Everyone of them wants to shake your hand

You wince a smile and nod for sure

Finally your friend the one whom you were in able to clap for

You hand them the flowers wilted thanks to a hundred peoples body heat

Trapped in a coffin of mixed colognes and perfumes

With a weak smile and a hug they're off to the cast party

Out you walk into the cold fall night

Luckily my hands are still bright

Hot enough to spontaneously combust

enough to keep me warm I trust

God I hate clapping for plays.