Theater of the Absurd: Rehearsing the Exit - James Kangas

Theater of the Absurd:
Rehearsing the Exit

The scene is bright enough,
the skim milk sky a calm scrim
backlighting black twigs
that loose their leaves like sad
confetti, like past amours.
Near a door in the back
your mind begins pacing.
You have sat in the dark in a fuzzy
dream sorting style and substance.
You have made equal piles.
What else could you do?
A quick-handed actor
throws to the house
a hook-ridden net,
crosses the boards again and again
wearing alternately a ragged jacket,
a smart blue sweater.
The man’s sure the same though,
the face and the torso
perfect and cruel.
It looks like a dagger in his hand;
in a spot--a gash of drama.
You see the heart changed
like a garment,
how it soaks up enigma.
You see near the end,
trying to leave, why this works,
how it scores in your flesh.

Published in The Madison Review Winter, 1983

James Kangas is a retired librarian and musician living in Flint, Michigan. His poems have been published in Atlanta Review, Faultline, New World Writing, The Penn Review, West Branch, et al. His chapbook, Breath of Eden (Sibling Rivalry Press), was published in 2019.