I was always jealous
of those kids
from the stolen movies
given to me on VHS
with meticulous handwriting
by a woman named Rose
who had a massive dish
that had more channels
than three, eight, and eleven

the scens I loved most
had massive pizza boxes
dungeons and dragons
smoke from a overworked mother
during a hot summer evening
where their lives would change

raised as an only child
by two people
that had ran
the gauntlet
there wasn’t hope
for that wild screaming night
friends and adventure
just these moments
sitting politely 
in some old woman’s house
listening in how thier friends
all died from the flu 
just last week

my grandfather and I 
would spend our weeknights
competing with one another
during an episode of Jeopardy
but it was quiet and controlled

sitting in my basement now
with a table full
of my own children
their fists full of dice
knowing that my other
children are upstairs
doing whatever they pleased
two pizza boxes
gutted by puberty and abandon
I realized I made it

it just took a lot
hulled me out
broke me to pieces
killed the shine
that I had to share
was it ever
worth the trip