Ft. Lauderdale, Fl USA
pardon the length. I got carried away.....
With broom held tightly in my hand, I swept the large stage floor,
Cleaned up debris accumulated from the night before.
The tenors had been ON last night, of that there was no doubt.
The crowd had been delirious with seats again sold out.
Carreras had been in rare form. Domingo's voice was sweet
And Luciano Pavarotti brought them to their feet.
How blessed I was to work with these great men the whole year through.
Though but a stagehand I felt that I was important, too.
I heard the echo of her footsteps down the center aisle
And looked to see a gorgeous face with such a brilliant smile.
I took my hat off quickly, did my best to stand up tall.
One tries to look one's best when Sarah Brightman comes to call.
"Excuse me, sir," I heard her say. "Could you please help me out?
I need to know if, by chance, Pavarotti is about."
"I'm sorry, Ms. Brightman," I said, voice filled with regret.
"The three of them went out to lunch and haven't come back yet."
"Oh, no!", she cried. "He promised me that, if I came along,
He'd have the time to help me to rehearse my newest song.
The edges are still rough, I fear, the ending not yet clean.
Bocelli and I perform next week a duet for the Queen."
"Ms. Brightman." I said, not believing that the voice was mine,
"Forgive me if I seem to be a little out of line.
Though I'm no Pavarotti, I've had some experience
And I'd be glad to join you, if you care to take the chance."
A look of absolute surprise showed up on Sarah's face.
A lesser woman would have laughed but Sarah held her grace.
I saw a tiny twinkle in the corner of her eye.
She said, "All right, my stagehand friend, let's give this thing a try."
From out of nowhere someone sat there at the baby grand.
Ms. Brightman took a sheet of music, placed it in my hand.
I stood there, shaking so bad I could barely hold the page.
Just me and Sarah Brightman, there - alone - on center stage.
The music started. She began, her voice so rich and clear
I half expected rainbows and an angel to appear.
Then my turn came. I made a small prayer to my virgin saint
That she would give me strength enough to not fall down and faint.
I felt the notes escape my lips and hover in the air.
Ms. Brightman's eyes grew twice their size, sheer pleasure in her stare.
My voice was so melodious, so rich in harmony,
It seemed impossible that it was coming out of me!
We sang. Oh, how we sang! Two perfect voices intertwined.
Her face was lit in rapture and I'd no doubt so was mine.
Her voice rose up and so did mine. Her voice fell. Mine did,too.
So synchronized the song came from one throat instead of two.
By now we both were crying. Tears came streaming from our eyes
And still the notes came pouring out and rising to the skies.
By this time we were lovers, hearts and souls completely bared,
Orgasmic, this kaleidascope of passion we now shared.
No world existed that we knew outside of this one song.
No life or death, no rich or poor, not even right or wrong.
My turn - her turn - then both together. On and on it went
And, by the time it ended, we were both completely spent.
We stood there for a second, stunned by what had taken place,
Survivors of a bomb blast would have worn that kind of face,
And though it would have pleasured me to stand there until dawn,
She whispered, "Thank you, stagehand friend", then turned and she was gone.
I hadn't known it at the time but, midway through it all,
The tenors had returned from lunch and stood there in the hall.
Their faces were in shocked amazement as we sang along,
Then all rushed in, applauding, at the ending of the song.
"Bravo!", Domingo shouted out. Carreras yelled, "Bravo!"
And Pavarotti came to me, his face was all aglow.
"Bravo", he smiled, admiringly. "What music you two make!"
He clasped my shoulders in his hands. Then he began to shake……
He shook. He shook! "Wake up, my boy! This is no time to sleep.
If I recall, we're paying you to use your broom and sweep!"
He smiled, "Come on, my weary friend, get up and get with it.
Don't want to see your favorite tenor slip into the pit!"
Oh, no! It hadn't been at all the wonder it had seemed.
'Twas nothing but a figment of a weary stagehand's dream!
The tenors chuckled, smilingly, then turned and walked away
To leave me by myself to face the harshness of the day.
I walked across the empty stage where Sarah and I stood.
Though nothing but a fantasy, the memories were still good.
I looked out at the audience, acknowledged their "Encore!!",
Then deeply bowed to empty seats and - smiling - swept the floor.