What Was The Line

Yellow face and black eyes.
Smile wrinkles.
Stance astride.
He gazes skyward to the gods.
What was the line?

Arms lower.
A pace left.
Forty years ago he stood here,
on this spot.
This grey slightly sandy board.
The crowd roared, applauded.
Enraptured by him.
He looks up as if in a dream.
A mystic.

The room hums with the sound of bums uncomfortably shifting in seats.
A ripple of coughs.
What was the line?!

Arms fly sideways, chest thrust forth.
A partial left fist rises
in grip of air.
Glass tones of force and brilliant awe ring out,
"Prompt!"

© Mark Sheeky. Permission is required for reproduction.