The Last Critic
by John Fuller
Everyone else has heard the call:
they have either become
directors or doctors,
stage managers or
store managers. Or,
gone home to become
producers of some off-off
off-Broadway play
‘Maybe it was the method,
maybe it was the school.
I sit in the last row,
my notes discarded,
on the floor,
underfoot.’
The last critic smokes
and puts his papers aside.
He waits.
He flicks an ash.
Maybe it was the Method:
‘Listen for the line that
captures ‘it all’ in a word.’
Maybe it was the School:
‘the New Critics know it is not
the author, or the players, but
The Work, that speaks to its audience.’