Here is a quiet, slow parade
of one long day;
a long, extraordinary journey
The room is treacle-coloured wood
and whisky light
imbued with silence
and the ebb of hope.
Here are the threads of stories
strange and sad,
and others rainbow-bright
with long-remembered seams of happiness.
One long, tall, tragic night of lingering
and listening in the dark,
of drinking, playing cards
and waiting for the fog to clear
and the woman overhead to stop herself
and go at last to bed.
One lovely moment when we talk about acting,
and a few upon a table top.
There is much here on appearances
and other things
you cannot talk about.
Much patting of hair and changing of coats,
coughing and silence.
There is no real looking
for the glasses she has lost,
and she has lost her sight
in other ways now too.
But it does not leave me sad.
It is not a portent,
but a sight of what we must not.
Long Day's Journey into Night plays at the Apollo Theatre until 18 August