They sit in darkness,
some in ones, more in twos,
only a few in threes.
They do not commune unless
you count popcorn and sugar.
They watch the screen, wordless
as anchorites. Afterwards they
do not pass the peace
nor meet each other's eyes
as if they had all seen or done
something shameful, unspeakable.
Once, years ago, during "On the
Beach," I heard a woman's sobs
go on and on. At the end of it
we all stayed in our seats
till she left. We spaced apart
our own leave-takings, going out
as if leaving a confessional,
unforgiven, unshriven.
[NOTE: No entries for the next two weeks -- on vacation in New England]
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