Poetry

Watching the Credits Late At Night

by: David Fraser

Watching the credits
Late at night
In the pale blue
Light of a darkened room,
He sits until
The last grip, best boy,
And foley man are gone;
The trademark also,
And when the music stops,
He is alone.

What can he say about the plot,
The lyrical moments of light and shade,
The love left by the side,
The fast fleeting images of the flick,
Waiting to be rewound?
Can he smile at what remains,
Those filtered down fragments
Of a life?
Can he float gently
Into that dark solitude
Once the eject button
Wipes away the static on the screen.