you remember the arcade
on the corner
right next to the local pizza shop
it's where you used to go
when your parents were yelling
and you didn't want to do your homework
riding your bike down suburb streets
moving gracefully between cars
waving at the neighbors when you saw them
arriving just outside
the scent of pizza grease and sweat
a comfort as you step inside
your friends are there
clustered around screaming bright boxes
quarters for eyes, joysticks for hands
you slid the cashier five dollar bills
you earned on miscellaneous chores
and your paper route
he's got a name tag
"Chad"
"Chad" will never leave his mother's basement
He hands you a quarter roll
Hands drenched in sweat and Cheeto dust
truly disgusting
but you thank him
because you were taught to be polite
and no one else is nice to "Chad"
You walk the aisles
Browsing, perusing
looking for the perfect game
Aha! There!
a new cabinet!
all alone!
just for you!
you play it, hours upon hours
lost in your virtual world
you're close, so close
the end of the game is so close
one more level!-
A hand, gruff and stern.
"Chad" stands behind you, stoic.
"C'mon, the arcade's closing.
You gotta go home."
Right, home.
You have to go home.
It's late, way too late.
Your bike sits, waiting for you.
You've gotta get home.
Home, with your parents fighting.
Home, with your homework, waiting.
Home, with your loneliness.
Too quick, you're already there.
The shouts are still loud.
They didn't even notice.
Oh well
There's always tomorrow
And the arcade will still be there.
Do you remember the arcade?
Your little escape from reality?
I wonder what happened to it?
Jan 8, 2019
Jan 8, 2019 at 12:37 PM UTC
you remember the arcade
on the corner
right next to the local pizza shop
it's where you used to go
when your parents were yelling
and you didn't want to do your homework
riding your bike down suburb streets
moving gracefully between cars
waving at the neighbors when you saw them
arriving just outside
the scent of pizza grease and sweat
a comfort as you step inside
your friends are there
clustered around screaming bright boxes
quarters for eyes, joysticks for hands
you slid the cashier five dollar bills
you earned on miscellaneous chores
and your paper route
he's got a name tag
"Chad"
"Chad" will never leave his mother's basement
He hands you a quarter roll
Hands drenched in sweat and Cheeto dust
truly disgusting
but you thank him
because you were taught to be polite
and no one else is nice to "Chad"
You walk the aisles
Browsing, perusing
looking for the perfect game
Aha! There!
a new cabinet!
all alone!
just for you!
you play it, hours upon hours
lost in your virtual world
you're close, so close
the end of the game is so close
one more level!-
A hand, gruff and stern.
"Chad" stands behind you, stoic.
"C'mon, the arcade's closing.
You gotta go home."
Right, home.
You have to go home.
It's late, way too late.
Your bike sits, waiting for you.
You've gotta get home.
Home, with your parents fighting.
Home, with your homework, waiting.
Home, with your loneliness.
Too quick, you're already there.
The shouts are still loud.
They didn't even notice.
Oh well
There's always tomorrow
And the arcade will still be there.
Do you remember the arcade?
Your little escape from reality?
I wonder what happened to it?
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