Two poems by Wayne Russell

Arcade Lunacy

By Wayne Russell

dad didn't want me around
so he would always give me money
while he sat and got wasted at Chan's bar
inside the mall.
it was a  
lonely childhood 
wasted in the arcade 
pumping quarters into 
hulking
emotionless 8 bit machines 
like a lunatic
bemused.
robotic friends and violence
it was 
the American way 
in 80's.
there were 
the occasional hangers on 
that clung to my every muttered 
curse word 
every move and push of the button
every kick and punch thrown by 
the arcade puppets that i so 
mercilessly controlled.
when the score was high enough
the hangers on hung around 
for awhile
a temporary fixture in my universe.
they would ask
"how did you do that?" "
or
"how long did it take to clear that level?" 
yet they were never true friends
they would always disburse
after the last "hero" of the game 
had been slain 
after the last quarter had been tossed into 
the abyss of loneliness.  
this battle field was a breeding 
ground for temporary sanity upon 
once barren grounds.
the atrocities   
withered into the corridors 
of a dying mall 
that the "cool kids" no longer inhabited.
pockets now devoid of change 
that once clattered and clanged
making me feel somehow "loved"
like i belonged to something 
or someone.
i returned to the bar where my dad was 
drunk and now chatting to a hooker. 
i asked him if 
"we could go home and get something to eat?"
he introduced me to Doris 
she was wearing an off the shoulder tank top
leather mini skirt and 
fishnet stockings.
dad flicked me fifty bucks 
and said 
"go catch the next Rocky Horror." 




Night in the City

Drunkards pose in horizontal poses along 
side acid streets of cool blue divinity.

Palm trees sway to a different pulsating
beat tonight.

The gods of jazz and the ghost of beatniks
roam free on cobbled streets.

The rhythm of unity repeats itself, in the
solace of exiled vagabond night.

Lovers embrace, as they always have
throughout the ages.

Bodies entwine in hot sticky sheets, drowning
in an undertow of chemo signals spawned between.



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 About the author: Wayne Russell is a creative writer born and raised in Florida, and even though his travels have carried him around the world, some strange force keeps pulling him back home again. Wayne has been published in Nomadic Voices Magazine, Zaira Journal, Danse Macabre, The Bitchin' Kitschs' and others. 

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