Shakespeare, 2701 A.U.C.
Poem by Phillip A. Ellis

March 13, 2013

When the play ended,
the river running past us
seemed sardonic, as
though amused by the actors’
incompetence. I
said that I had never seen
Shakespeare in that way
before, poorly, as we packed
our picnic hampers
and withdrew to our cars, the
steam-chauffeurs upright
and gleaming, like the gaslight
hoods of the footlights.



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