The curtains dropped.
The orchestra stopped.
Nobody moved
and nobody clapped.
So quiet you could hear a pin drop.
A mouse squeak
or a floorboard creak.
They waited with baited breath
for the next and final act.
But it didn’t come.
The lights came on.
The doors flung open.
His work there was done.
They could see it now for what it really was
a slight of hand, a pause mixed up
with a trick of the mind
and a coin in a cup.
A master in the art of deception
he ignored any sense of rejection
from those with a faulting perception.
His work there was done.
thejrpc 