Sonnet for the Lead by Laura Stratford

The lights come up on you at center stage—
Fluorescent in the dark, you are a god.
Mascara’d eyes disguise your callow age.
You tether focus to you with a nod
Of your illumined head. As if by whim,
You glance my way—perhaps you see my stare.
You lift your hand to hat, you touch your brim,
And as I tremble in my seat, declare
Your mission. What it is, I do not hear;
I feel instead the confidence that pours,
That emanates like radiation near
Unstable elements, a stream from your
Electric skin. And all the while I know
The pompous prick you’ll be after the show.