So what if all films used to show were

people walking up and down streets crowds leaves

in motion in short exactly what you could see outside

but in shades of grey so boring some say

film was a chaser at the end of vaudeville acts

to clear away audiences when they needed to start the next set—

only the cinephiles staying,

whispering things to each other like

O to be silent,

inscrutable, and ashen as a Lumière:

how much more interesting would readings be

if everyone knew poetry were the last act,

and instinctively started to collect their belongings,

to look for the misplaced scarf or book,

scrambling around,

knowing each line would be short,

very little time to get out

before the pauses, the changes of rhythm,

the collective sigh that the audience expels

at the end of each poem like the custom

of holding your breath driving past a graveyard,

trying not to breathe life to those shadows,

hoping the poet doesn’t get up and read again.