Slot of Saved Precious Memories

I wrote this like 8ish years ago? I think? It was for a poetry anthology assignment. This was the spoken word one.... I think.

(unedited)

~ ~ ~

The cousin’s house I visit now

Not nearly as fun as my thoughts recall.

The N64 with slots of saved precious memories

sold away for temporary cheap money,

Not necessarily a complete loss game

Playstation 2 arrived the next day

Approximately. It didn’t last

however, change is not the same. Where were my friends A, B, and Zee-

Zed, same thing, forgive a mournful child who got random symbols instead.

Mario, link & Kirby, GONE FOR ETERNITY!

hyperbole, I go there now to see them replaced with-

With Call of Duty.

I supposed it doesn’t matter, the cousin I spent years with is in Vancouver. But

his little bro remains, and how will he ever know the feeling of contempt

when wrapping two petite little hands strategically around three stems

of giant plastic, buttons, and triggers, and joysticks, and fun.

How can he never know – a sword . . .

Maybe even a tennis Racquet

is better than a gun.

So I bought a Wii, just so he can see with great glee

My childhood slot of saved precious memories.

[The poem was about my cousin selling his (and my only access to a) Nintendo 64 in exchange for a playstation 2. Which, looking back now, isn’t even that much of a crime.]