Five Rows of Seats

The man in the glasses and brown leather coat

sat down for the evening’s concert ...

At his right sat his wife resplendent in red

but with head lopsidedly angled ...

He took in the sight of his wife at his right

and pretending she wasn’t with him

focused on the sight of the theatre that night

as the opera goers poured in ...

Excitement showed in the bulge of his eyes

as somewhere the gentleman recognised

an acquaintance last seen in Paris streets

or so he broadcast across five rows of seats,

a mistake he soon regretted ...

The lights dimmed the singers appeared

the silence spoke of a magic shared

as Don Giovani regaled us ...

All except one resplendent in red

whose bobbing, nodding, snoring head

reminded her husband that she was there

cradled in the arms of Morpheus

and sitting only five rows back

was the man he’d met in Paris ...

He was clearly embarrassed ...

He nudged his wife, she didn’t stir ...

He pinched her bright red arm,

aghast as she clapped with much effect

just as Don Giovanni clutched Zerlina’s breast 

an unspeakable moment of horror ...

The man in the glasses and brown leather coat 

sank in his seat as low as would go 

but not low enough to escape the looks 

of rows P through to T who in concert took

his memories of Paris Streets 

 and hurled them back at him 

across five rows of seats.