The Capitol Cinema

 

The flip-down thrones were red velvet, once

before the lick of back-row smooches

and optimistic arms frayed the corners

of Friday nights, hearts arrhythmically in sync

with 20th Century Fox or

lips pursed for Pearl and Dean.

 

The matinee was best. 

Enchanted children, unaware of futures

that didn’t sing in C major, knelt above perms

to see the princess, never more than four scenes from safety

while nans passed sandwiches down the generations

two decades ahead of nachos and 4D. 

 

The ruched curtain fainted at the interval

and gathered the strength to rise again

while the usher of dust cheated 

little palms of their change

In exchange for Cornettos.

 

We didn’t mind the cold. A knitted blanket warmed

the knees of this dying ritual as we sunned 

fledgling limbs on beaches we’d never see anywhere

but here.