The Ventriloquist Finds His Voice
Afterwards, in shabby cafes scattered
Around that dirty arrondissement,
Over drinks they didn’t remember
Ordering and didn’t really want,
They talked of how, looking back now,
His whole career seemed to have been
Patient preparation for that moment
They had just witnessed in the theatre, when
He closed the puppet’s mouth
(they’d thought it would never stop talking)
And began to say, in his own voice,
The strangest, the most beautiful things.