Waiting for the Lights to Dim

The glitz and trashiness of the commercials
that bombard me today,
as I sit in the darkened auditorium
waiting for my film to start,
make me remember simpler times
when I stared at a massive droopy curtain
as I waited for the lights to dim.

Instead of slides of meaningless Hollywood trivia,
my eyes fixed on a curtain
where someone had skillfully
shot a blob of chewed gum,
years ago,
and no employee had the time
or the inclination
to erect a ladder for its removal.

Instead of a corporate host
telling me how many minutes until the previews start,
my eyes watched the yellow lights on the walls,
and my eyes often tricked me
thinking the lights were starting to dim when they weren't.

My wrist too young to wear a watch,
I marked time with the pre-movie music,
thinking that at the end of this song
surely the lights would dim,
and then the next song started
and I thought surely after this one.

And now when I have paid my nine dollars
to watch, captive, the million dollar products
of Madison Avenue
before the billion dollar creations of Hollywood,
I long for the boredom of that dusty curtain
that blob of hardened gum
those tricky yellow lights that refused to dim.