Fred

I am at the centre of my own stage
My fans cheer for me, adoringly
They roil with laughter at my wit
Gasp as I set loose my falsetto
Cry as my gentle siren lowers to just a whisper

All but one.
There he is, staring at me.
Peering into me, piercing through the glitter of lights and flashes
He watches, not with shame, or contempt, or disgust.
He just watches, in pure curiosity.

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Fred, I don't know how you do it.
I don't know how you go out there night after night.
I don't know how you put up with the cackles and jeers.
I wish I was blind like you.