I went out to the garage room
where spirits sometimes flicker
within its silent brooding gloom;
heartsick, growing heart sicker.
Three boys here used to scrum
with Disney or Wii Sports.
Regan and I would sometimes come
to cheer at their resorts.
But children come no more--
just ghouls and zombies now.
So many bodies on the floor,
the reaper used a plow
Where cherubic innocence
once frolicked on the rug
now lurks a cold malevolence
with graves that they have dug
For teenage boys are much more choosy--
that Wii is now passé.
A game with no shotgun or Uzi
is a game they wouldn't play.
Bad guy bodies pile up.
They cheer as blood is spilled.
EA bumps stock a mile up
with every hour killed.