ET IN ARCADE EGO

I wake up every morning in tilt, bruised
from ball & bumper, rubbing aching wrists.
I brush my teeth by backglass, & wonder
how one more game can possibly still thrill.
I break another dollar just to hear
its divided self collide in pocket,
clamoring to disappear. Will this be
a two player or a single? George’s
face never looks anywhere but left.
Somewhere in the distance is a free game,
an extra ball, Shoot Again! Well, why not.
It’s only gravity. Everyone must
feel it. Into the V that’s never closed
a steely heaviness rockets, helpless.