It was the first time that I had ever hated the sound of my own name. "Tommy, you're up," the coach had yelled down from the entrance of the dugout. I was sitting on the end of the bench next to my
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[+]
if you concentrate
hard enough, sometimes
the fourth wall breaks—
fading just a moment
to darkened halls
live audience hanging
onto every word
lips red for stage
your favourite shirt
a scratchy costume
crew adjusting lenses
bright lights, microphones
looming overhead
director sipping coffee
writers angrily squabbling
over words you thought
came from your heart
ersatz onions floating in the pot
a man who only pretends
to love you; a stranger's
thoughts in your mind
distracted by
iPhone buzzing
against your/their thigh—
then back
in the privacy
of your little kitchen
nothing in your pocket
heartbroken husband
grasping for words
walls all around.
hard enough, sometimes
the fourth wall breaks—
fading just a moment
to darkened halls
live audience hanging
onto every word
lips red for stage
your favourite shirt
a scratchy costume
crew adjusting lenses
bright lights, microphones
looming overhead
director sipping coffee
writers angrily squabbling
over words you thought
came from your heart
ersatz onions floating in the pot
a man who only pretends
to love you; a stranger's
thoughts in your mind
distracted by
iPhone buzzing
against your/their thigh—
then back
in the privacy
of your little kitchen
nothing in your pocket
heartbroken husband
grasping for words
walls all around.