So Enters Connie
Upstage
with certain handicaps
like being in love
recalling campaign promises
in the year of an election
fighting wars, losing battles,
marching down aisles
or into bedrooms
prepared to go
where there is no going back
It was a role I’d never played
before I fell in love with you
I was in love with Connie
who washed occasionally
took no prisoners
who came to swing with Tarzan in a tree
tossing her merchandise
kissing you boldly
Connie, who raised the stakes,
Connie the dealer, who didn’t choose the game
you pressed me tightly before
a hundred witnesses
I closed my eyes
hid my face on your chest
you forgot your line
I whispered it to you
Thank you very much!
I smiled, broke away,
You’re welcome—very much!
Oh how I loved to play Connie
had you down on your knees
in Act 3 proposing marriage
eight times a week
and by the end of the run
I meant every word
I forgot there’s no sense
in featherweight comedies
you’re meant to swallow
with tea and bickies
when Connie
Exits
Downstage
minus her face.
Now, nearly two years have passed and
you’re in my bedroom
lying on my bed
asking if I still have the script
I locate it a little too quickly
as Connie Enters
Upstage
with a valise
holding my heart
and yours
(can’t remember what was really in it
to make it look heavy
probably nothing)
I tell you since then
I’ve played Claire and Ramona
and it’s only when
I’m with you that
Connie Enters
with an ultimatum
re-authoring this fiction
like there’s no tomorrow
YOU: It took a Neil Simon play
to bring us together
but the script couldn’t go on
forever
ME: The audience has nodded off
it’s not funny any more
the lines you’ve fed me
our characters are still sipping
cocktails and mixing metaphors
in a Manhattan apartment
stuck, like a needle, in 1961