The Speed Demon

Your favorite machine that just happens to be
in the untouched corner of every arcade we

stumble into,

for we always need to drink first,

like we’re fish, in order to have any fun, no matter

where we’re going, always, whether it be to

a funeral, a wake, a family dinner,

a wedding reception, a baby’s baptism,

a park called Waldameer, an arcade just like the

rest, a corner that lies untouched…

It’s red, still retro for now but fading, with a
base that’s yellow, a bug-eyed devil yelling at
you to sell your soul and pull a plunger and watch

as a silver ball spins and spins and spins and spins,

spins in scorching circles until you decide that

the time is up and you press a button that says

STOP.

And you expect to be sent straight to Hell with

a ticket that only goes one way and you shut

your eyes tight to prepare for a blow that never

happens and you open your eyes back up to see
that you instead remain grounded and the silver
ball begins to swirl at a much slower pace, it’s

teasing you as it sneaks right past the jackpot hole

over and over and over like it’s in some

sort of orbit before failing to complete one

more revolution and falling into the hole

directly adjacent to the severely sought

after grand prize. So close. You scrape up

your scrap-sized pile of tickets, dismayed

with your outcome, ready to sell your soul

once more, or twice, or three times, or

four, or whatever it takes to win what you know

you deserve. And you may as well get another

drink while you’re at it since you already know that

you’re not getting into heaven anytime soon.