by krstaten

Lately I keep dreaming of arcades.
I think it’s because I want
to be surrounded by merely
games for a change, or maybe
it’s the prospect of winning.

Last night a bullying
boulder of a twelve-year-old
stole all my tickets,
and through my rage I thought,
I’m too young to begrudge children
their games. What would the tickets
have bought me?

A bracelet, a cheap plastic train,
a rubber ball to lose under the fridge.
And I thought, I would have gladly
given him the tickets if he’d asked,
only I hadn’t been done playing yet.

It was only pinball.
I left and couldn’t find my car
or remember what it looked like.
Maybe I’m older than I thought.