marc rahe

Head Shots; Behind the Barn

Behind the barn and near

the coop I strung them

on a clothesline, then backed

away to stare. When you left

I needed new you but

had no way of casting

well. No sense

for solid performance.

No ear for stunning

voice. So I called you

all to try out—fake grand role

in my play. From the line,

you watched me

watch you harshly,

searching for a clue. A cue.

A certain telling smile.

Will you work well? Will

you? As of yet

I’m poor-directing

a flailing, failing show:

poorly acting animals,

oddly detailed props. Soon

you’ll see—the only news here

is bad news

with more bad news yet

to come. When time to cast

the make-shift lead

I walk away in panic.

Leave

the eyes to sway in rows.