The young man stands centre stage
In his hands
Three
Brightly coloured
Balls
The lights come up
His easy smile draws the crowd in
He’s done this before
In a wave of motion
The balls are expertly tossed
One by one by one
Intricate circles
Made by the bean-filled orbs
The crowd gives polite applause
Acknowledging his skill
But they have seen it done
By him
By others
A stranger emerges from the crowd
Pulling something from his coat pocket
A hacky-sack
Another colourful ball
Close in size to the rest
He tosses it into the mix
The expert Juggler
Not missing a beat
Weaves the projectile
Into the dance
The crowd cheers for the deviation
From the norm
A woman stands
Pulling a child’s beach ball from her bag
Lighter
Larger
She throws it into the path
Of the oncoming balls
The Juggler
Again
Recovering from his shock
Begins to toss the larger ball
With the rest
The difference in weight
And size
Make it hard to meld the new ball
Into the old routine
Keeping him on his toes
The crowd loves it
Now they search their own pockets
For globe-like objects
To be a part of the show
From stage left
A stress ball
From stage right
A tennis ball
The Juggler’s face begins to show
The inner workings of his mind
Franticly working
To stay professional
Cope through the distractions
After all
The crowd has never been this happy
Never cheered this loudly
Before
From right in front of the performer
Someone throws
A perfume bottle
Somewhat round
But not a ball
Heavier
Smaller
Possible consequences of a mistake
Much worse
The juggler
Barely able to catch it
Holds on tightly
Until the next ball requires his attention
He must let go
Of the delicate piece of glass
The crowd is on their feet
They love the added danger
The break from the ordinary
Another glass bottle is thrown
And another
The balls begin to match the bottles
In number
The poor entertainer
Loving the applause
Dreading the surprises
Pulls off spectacular feats
Twisting and turning
The choreography is changed
For the new coming dancers
Everything is working
Perfectly
Until
The juggler begins to grow weary
His hands feel like oven mitts
His arms muscles burn
The objects are blurring
Hard to tell which
Is soft and forgiving
And which
Is hard and unyielding
A moment comes
He knows he is going to fail
Something must drop
He watches carefully
For the ones
That will be alright
Without his hands
Will be caught by others
Or fall harmlessly
Ready for another try
Another day
But he hates to fail
He loves the applause
The admiring looks
The astonishment
The admiration
He’s never felt those eyes on him
Not in that way
So he tries to hold on
Push a little harder
Ask a little more from his body
And his mind
A few more moments gained
Another round of applause
To feed his tired ego
The first to drop
Was the perfume bottle
The shattering
Was accompanied
By a groan
And a gasp
From the audience
The scent wafted through the air
To proclaim his mistake
To anyone who was near enough
to smell it
The next was a small coloured ball
It rolled from the stage
Into the crowd
Lost under feet
The Juggler mourned its loss
As it was his own
A personal favourite
One that had helped him learn
His trade
Someone decided
Mercy
Was needed
And cut the lights
On the pending disaster
In the pitch black theatre
The sounds of falling
Crashing
Bouncing
Breaking
And sobbing
And the running footsteps
Fleeing the chaos
Of the performer
Who couldn’t let
Anything
Fall
February 22, 2011
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