"That's Entertainment!"

Flyman change the scene!
This play is tragedy, not fun.

In the wings the understudy frets,
uncertain whether destiny will call.
Offstage, our prompter feeds the lies
to the hero of our play.

The audience reserves its approval;
the critics march out early,
past silent ushers, for interval drinks
with and from the bar staff:

before the out-rush
of the chattering classes
- so ready to comment
on the plebs depicted on the stage.

        “Smell the smoke,
            feel the fire,
              the hint of brimstone
                and the camps’ barbed wire

                         “Feel the envy,
                           fear the hate,
                             the sound of sirens,
                              arriving too late.”

“That’s entertainment!” Cressida says,
forgetting she owns a house
worth all the affordable housing
in a small Northern town.

We are entertainment:
“See the funny poor people!”
but we are NOT on stage.
The usual suspects are,
and they do not speak for us.