by Julia Griffin

“Audience members at a matinee performance of the Royal Shakespeare Company’s production, starring Kenneth Branagh as Prospero, complained after a baby gurgled and cooed its way throughout the entire first half.”
—The Guardian

“They hurried hence thy crying self,”
The Duke informed his child,
Explaining how they’d come to be
Demoted and exiled;
Alas, his evocation of
Miranda’s baby blues
Was barely heard above the sound
Of nearby glugs and coos.
“Thou art inclined to sleep”: alas,
The powers of the mage
Were not sufficient to transcend
The borders of the stage,
And, equally unluckily,
The right to hurry hence
Is one the RSC does not
Allow its audience.
They, in this case, had paid good cash
To hear Sir Kenneth B,
Which left them somewhat disinclined
To note the irony,
And though ’twas not The Winter’s Tale,
The atmosphere was frost.
“What trouble was I then to you!”
Yes, baby: thou sure wast.