fourteen

an unplanned detour
to escape our tbilisi hotel
its barren rooms and barren bar
drive us into the night
we wander and notice a small opera house
                                                            the barber of seville
                                                            an amateur cast
our curiosity tugs us inside
three kopeks a person
we tip the coat-check with a couple of marlboros
( to ensure our coats won't fall on the floor )
we slide into our seats
                               three rows from the stage
talking in whispers
expecting a circus

the opera begins
charming in chaos
failed octaves missed entrances
stage-fright and darkness
politely we watch
feeling pompous and superior
and try not to laugh
the fierce glare of soldiers
ever smoldering behind us