Gamer Boys

His noontime bicycle handlebars once pushed a pass

on pavement where they couldn’t go on grass

or underneath the early evening stars,

but now he’s in a basement heat sweating, and yet

not forgetting the feeling of that cool wind.

It once hit his scuffed hands and tire bands on the tar

before the blue sky overhead went thinning afar

and when the cars passed on the one-way street

and rippled the summer heat that ruled him.

But now Jack lays on that blacktop, a head so proud,

craving for the sun now lazing in a cloud.

Indoors now, he’s broken down after

spending his weekend on Stan, that gamer jerk

who had him worked up, thinking he was the man.

That kid came over just so he could watch him skylark

on his video games, and then circled him like a shark,

just to test him and tease him and grandstand.

When left alone, this boy does what he can.

So you practiced more patience on your last lives

after blowing them off like that game of Fives

to go down in dreams of glory in the first

and then be at the end and feeling the worst,

gone kissing Satan's floor for the token to play again—

to regain this friendship off the HP of such rejects

who now live only to eat, breathe, shit on, or sex

whatever gets to defeat your prospects.

But this gamer’s not easily beaten by men.

Now you know a second can spell death or treasure

and that greed with the controller is no pleasure

when Stan is sitting there slaying you

on his two-player he brought over just playing you.

For he’s been holding out for that new hotter sell

perched higher up the platform’s flying perfect string

that was stapled to your cardboard ceiling,

but the final boss level didn’t a heaven bring so

he just stone rolled halfway back to his own hell.

Just know my boy that when faced with a sea

there’s an end to it and you’re the infinity,

so taking on his showing off was a waste.

But just so you know, you still got a good taste

of sweetness back when you were friends with that kid.

It didn’t have to last but you two still had a blast,

be still and know, and you’ll be free from that

when his camping has you feeling crass.

Just try to accept what that spoiled brat did.

So you tried to cover up the zoo in your room,

but even while crippled, you didn’t need his gloom,

though you still tried to sweep it under the rugs

and chose your weapons with the thugs

and picked out your ammo in a raiding rage—

always lashing out at your trolling foes for returning

to zap your pride away and for never learning

that even years after drought they’ll anyways rot

in pots inside when THEY come of age!

But now that little gamer devil takes his little fit

just trying to make his glitchy pixel spaceship hit

your target objective who’s been laughing

in his face and saying he’s just “passing through”

to corner this wounded animal in its cage.

But incited and intent, with eyes on the prize,

you too could growl in fury from just too many tries

still slouched down on the couch gone button

mashing your blistered thumbs to rage!

And so gamer boys gather to be made and to play

in places where there’s not much else to do all day,

re-spawned at dawn ‘til the dark night’s cape.

So maybe next summer you’ll be in shape

to pull the hood on that kid’s whole universe,

but if you walk again, and want to traverse

the joy a hundred summer mornings bring

and still make it back in time for spring—

go beyond that kid's shrinking, scheming little goals

down in his basement’s secret screened-off holes

and go where souls like you are showing their age,

and where you can dance a hundred movements

and spin a million words across a page…

Just say you lost and call it an improvement.

Then you’ll rack up true scores and hold ‘em high

somewhere in the clouds of your mind in the sky

where that grounded kid can’t do you wrong.

And as long as you don’t give it up just to sit and cry

and the bosses you beat leave you just the same,

all these barriers you got now surrounding you

on this life’s track will be far and few,

and the days ahead of you will be your game.

Then all these times he’s kicked your ass through

that make you used to losing just so out you sit

won’t be your fit—the shit you cling to anymore, 

if only you belong to the ground beyond your door.

Just go greet it dude and it’ll all be yours…

but only so long as you run with it.

But boy take your sword and your life and limbs,

your airplane sims and home fitness gyms—

Take your potions and your superpowers,

your spin-dashes and princesses in towers

when you’re moving on to your higher zone.

Take your blasters, combos, and handheld grips,

your K-O! ducks and dips and warp point flips,

and barrel rolls learned all those summers ago

with Stan in your room just hanging out with him

because it’s dangerous to go alone.

NEXT

--Farewell Frat Row