This image was taken from Sandy Ackers's blog at this site:

Stage Fright

The empty chair upon the stage,
Prepped for sweat and tears.
Mine, to be precise.

Curtain is in ten.

This is part of my routine,
Part of my practice:
Look out, look at lights, breathe, exhale, repeat.

The stagehands shake their heads with wonder (or perhaps distaste).

I'm world renowned, after all--
Been doing this for six years,
Been on tour more than twice.

I have the the drugs, the liquor, the babes,

But this--
It never goes away.
It's like this every time.

I've been on the stage countless times,
I've gyrated under the lights,
I've tripped going up the stairs.

I've milked that mic as if it were only mine,
And it was my last day alive.

I've sang from my gut, my heart, my soul,
Embarrased myself more than once,

But when I see my name in lights,
The adoring fans (or groupies),
Hear the screams:

That little performner inside me whimpers--
Just a little--before he can engage.

My ritual must stay.
Fresh fruit,  two shots of Beam, ten paces, then twenty,
One trip to take a leak,
And then I'll take the stage.

Kill that limelight,
Amaze the crowd,
The crew, the producers, the fans,
Even me.


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