He is sixteen in front of the television.
But no game pad this time.
No kingdom of buttons.
No left move right shoot.
No aliens no battalions no dinosaurs
only a girl beside him.
His tongue’s a knot
his nerves between a quake and a wobble.
She is not pixels. Not circuitry.
She’s another human being.
What do I do he asks himself.
No answer.
Girls are so remote.
And they don’t come with one.
John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, who likes to collect early editions of Mad Magazine and arts books and still reads an actual newspaper on a daily basis.