Ode to the Stage Manager, Vicki Yates – The Arctic Playhouse, West Warwick, RI

She enters the theater before it can yawn,
With coffee in hand and the ghost light still on.
While actors are stretching or lost in a line,
She’s taping the stage with a grid so divine.

She wrangles the chaos with headset and charm,
Says, “Places!” and suddenly—calm.
She knows every line, every glitch, every cue,
And the prop you forgot way back in Act 2.

She speaks fluent panic, and patience as well,
Can call cues in blackout or handle a yell.
If the set starts to crumble or someone forgets,
She patches it up with dry wit and no sweat.

Her script is a journal, a map, a memoir,
With scribbles and notes like theatrical war.
She’s the first one to laugh, the last one to leave,
The magician who ensures the audience believes.

No spotlight will catch her, with no curtain bow,
But everyone knows she’s the queen of the now.
For the cast and the crew, she’s the heart and the glue,
And the show goes on nightly thanks to what she can do.