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Penny Arcade Inflated

Robert Heath

It‣s awhile since I‣ve been in an arcade
Ages back ” late 80‣s
The onset of Space Invaders
Which
Appeared amid the fruit machines
Like visual cancer. All prophecy and
Pixelated death.
But the kids are yanking on my arm
Like a chain ” neon seduction
Bright in their faces
And I‣m like ” “Ok. Alright already.”
Inside by way of swing doors
With wire woven fire glass eyes
Not like saloon doors
Even though this is the land
Of last chances.
It‣s all changed so much
Whilst remaining identical in every way
Inflationary days having
Turned the penny arcade
Into the pound arcade but the premise remains
And where once it was one-armed bandits
Three reels ” nudges, a shuffle or two
Their fascia‣s browned and buckled
Like plastic lava -
Smokey topaz
Kissed with jags of burnt black
By endless cigarettes
Propped on them as guys dressed like Marlon Brando
Or Jimmy Dean
Jacked some change in and yanked the arm
All the while looking to see who was looking at them
As the reels spun
Bar ” Cherry - Bell
Followed by my era in their tartan trousers or
Endless rocker leather and
The mingled smell of petunia oil and dope.
Now it‣s multi-buttoned and busy-faced
With myriad vying options like a chorus line
Of temptation
And there are like rows of these
Things ”
Backs to the wall
Which is apt enough
Displaying their wares like whores in a window
In Bruges or Amsterdam or
Where the hell.
And the kids have long since fleeced me of change
Which is again ironic
When you think of what change is
And is not.
They are gone, playing
On racing games where
You sit down like it was
An actual car ”
Before flitting at games end to the latest beat-em-up
Shoot-em-up
They don‣t bat an eye at the fruit machines
Wrong era baby
How many times you heard that in your life?
So it‣s just me like a lazy memory
Of someplace else, stood
In the middle of this emporium of the enchanted child
The disenchanted non-child
And it strikes me that almost nobody is paying
Any heed to these new-fangled fruit machines.
Sure
There‣s a guy or two ” late 20‣s, sweat-top
And Diesel jeans giving it a few quid
But they are by and large ignored
And in the centre of the room
Is the reason why
It‣s a big coin drop machine.
You know the sort?
Sure you do ” the one where you shove coins
In the slot and then they land on a ramp
Get pushed forwards until some tip over the edge
Onto a ramp below and then over again
And that‣s what you win ” the ones that fall
Off of the second ramp.
It‣s like slow dying
Feeding the call of the machine as they lurch
Forwards ” in a millimetre dance macabre
Every penny costing pounds
Minutes
Thoughts
And its surrounded ” besieged even
By guys and dolls who hold plastic
Cups full of change ” And I watch as
This woman ” skinny as a buck-rake
Tired eyes like haunted hollows
Feeds coin after coin (10 pence pieces)
Into the slot and she don‣t even
Stop to check if she has won ” or plan when
To drop the coin or not ” what the best
Time is to let one go ” she just forces them
In as fast as her begging bowl hands will let her
No care
Every fucking place is hell.
Only when the tub is empty does she
Check her winnings, scooping up
The change and re-feeding it
Without a hint nor pause of
Any form and I wonder
How much of it is
Addiction - as God and any
Gambler will tell you the thrill comes
From the doing not the winning or the losing
And how much is symbolic ” Showing the world
Your real face any old fucking way you can
And I get to wondering what she will do
When she runs out of money
Change
Die
Run
I watch as her tub empties out and she heads over
To the booth where this old guy sits
Like a nonchalant Satan ”
Observing the wages of sin
She passes him a £20
And he hands her back a bag of swag
And she‣s back ” feeding the habit
The habit of trying to be something else
Of trying to cross the invisible barriers
What the fuck will she do?
I mean truly ” what will she do when she
Runs out of a way to be who she is?
What do any of us do
I thought about hanging around to see
But the kids were back,
Yanking some more at my arm
“We want change.”
They said ” I grabbed them
Both and led them out the door
“Kids” ” I said, “I ain‣t sure
You gonna find it in there.”
There puzzlement pleased me
Proof that as yet,
The world ain‣t shit on them.

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