In the Arcade

Not like for real. Here no one dies,
and I’ve got lives to spare, the chance
to outwit, out-shoot other guys
and dying’s just a fancy dance.

Feed in some coins — a life comes up.
I scatter corpses and forget
they mattered, once; I spill their cup
like stubbing out a cigarette.

I’ve lost a life!  but there’s no pain,
no blood. Another life’s to hand,
and deals a trigger-happy rain
of bullets over virtual land.

The deaths mount up; it’s my best score.
I’m good with gun, machete, knife.
Tomorrow I’ll get even more.
Here no one dies. Not like real life.

D. A. Prince

If you have any comments on this poem, D. A. Prince would like to hear from you.

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