Leaning against a pillar
Just outside of the
Cameras eye, he looked calm.
No one paid enough attention
To notice the half smoked
Cigarettes piled on the
Floor around his feet.

He was dressed as he
Was thirty five years younger.
It wasn't the same tux,
Years of not doing his
Act; years of selling
Real estate did him well
Financially, but nothing
For his physique.

The tux, white with gold
Trim and it's tails that
Hung almost to his ankles,
Matched the Top Hat and
Cane he tucked under his arm.

Years long past the cane
Was more than a prop;
He would high step onto
The stage, leap, not missing
A beat, landing precisely
Behind a pole, lift the cane,
As if he were thrusting it
Into heart of a fallen foe,
Completing the fifteenth
Pole that lined with others.
The cane's end was a knob,
That with a quick twist
Revealed a flat tip,
Akin to the other fourteen.

He was, and again , this night
A plate spinner; not just
Any plate spinner, he was
Anthony the Wonder.
He did not just spin
Plates on poles; he tapped
Danced, tumbled, leaped from
Plate to plate, telling jokes
Berle stole, Bob Hope bought,
And Jack Benny would borrow.
He opened for Charlie Chaplin,
Who shared a drink or two, or
Was it two dozen?
Later finding out Chaplin
Could remove to much beer
From his system as well as he.

He smiles to himself,
As the memories pass through his mind.
Five more minutes,
A producer tells him.
Though he does not use
This cane every day, it
Is not just a prop anymore.
He pushes the dark shadow
Out of his mind, no need
To dwell on the negective.