wrong prank

A...

A...

A play,
an interactive
stunt, a racquet
-bop badminton without
a net,

where a random and
variable number of players
come in on either side and
the birdies are all variants
of a trouser.
A tourney,
where the back-and-forth arc
each volley describes could be visualized
in terms that leave one breathless,
gaping at the sheer
mental athleticism of all the participants here
who, in seeming effortless, blow minds
and bat around trou after zer
for hours and instants until the audience
whips its collective frenzied mind
into a blur, into stiff peaks
of sweet yet tart meringue

and must admit
oh goodness - this won't fit
I never understood the rules
except by breaking them. Ah,

Shit.

Then suddenly a clapboard claps
to mark the start of this next scene, and everyone
in clapping distance dawns in horror, sprawled upon
their mind's first realization that...

...their trousers are missing.

And in-between,

the neighbors next to next door's house, left
their oven running out,
left their oven gaping wide they fled the scene,
they ran outside into the street,
to keep it real. Call the police
to seal the deal anonymously,
shush! It's not me, it's just

- the neighbors you can't trust
have called it in. Reporting screams.

Well, someone? Tell them what
it means.