The Act by Peter Marra

the act

a small room:

4 walls

dirty white.

a box.

an enclosure.

he sits in a corner

back to the wall

head down

-it’s warm in here-

staring at his feet.

fly high and stop

can’t tell the time

a tree in the diagonally

opposite corner

is slowly touching him

reaching inside

then it stops

the desk clerk downstairs

rolls his eyes upward

waiting.

bored endlessly for the end of his shift

waiting for the women in the windows.

they stop

they ridicule

the sofa in the lobby held figures

from his memory.

figures gone 

many years ago.

actions escaped them both

it was a final test before

all participants went to bed.

they were slaves of the walls

the fury gang was sleeping outside

dormant until needed

mistresses of depravities