A Pair of Glasses

He sits behind the desk,
communicating through buzzers
and words on his cards.
He doesn’t talk much;
he’s there to move along the show.
A glorified prop.
He doesn’t fit in.

A pair of glasses enters the scene,
arguing with him and making
jokes about his neck.
Or lack of.
He tries to respond but fumbles;
it’s been too long since
his days at the court, and his
wit is out of practice.

The glasses return,
and he manages a reply to
the comments. A feeble attempt,
but a start.
A beginning.

They meet backstage
after the show, and exchange
an extended look.
A thick curtain of anticipation hangs
between them, pushed aside when
the pair of glasses steps forward.
They kiss.
It’s awkward.
(But only slightly.)

The glasses are back
the next week.
He’s glad.
They trade the usual insults,
and he smiles.
He’s found a place to belong.