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breaking the fourth wall
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backburner results
"Breaking the Fourth Wall"
The waiter drops a tray—
not by accident, but because the script
needed a clatter.
We all pretend surprise,
though the stage lights already gave it away.
A couple at the corner table
argues in perfect meter,
their quarrel rehearsed enough
to sound spontaneous.
You lean in, whisper: they’re actors.
I nod, but the joke is on us—
we’re written too.
The ceiling fan spins like a plot device,
its blades cutting time into neat chapters.
Someone coughs in the audience,
and suddenly the cough belongs to the play.
We laugh, unsure if we’re supposed to.
Then the narrator steps down,
slides into our booth,
borrows a fry,
and says:
You thought you were watching?
You’ve been auditioning all along.
The curtain doesn’t fall.
It lingers, like a punchline
that refuses to leave the room.
We clap anyway,
because clapping feels safer
than admitting we’ve been caught
inside the joke.
.
