The Block

Pressure mounts.

I’ve vowed to write,

and write I shall.

But the page gleams white

as themes flit through,

tried, rejected, then another grasped.

The first, too painful;

the second, too trite.

Another looms with possibility:

something about my son and

the intricacies of Fallout: New Vegas.

The non-linear narrative and

role of chance and choice

on the gamer’s conception of reality

is a subject ripe for poetic analysis.

The flaw inherent here?

I have no idea what I’m talking about.

But that doesn’t stop me from

brooding upon the effects this

type of open world action role-playing

video game narrative will have on

the future of storytelling and literature.

The literary critic in me ponders,

weighing the possible ramifications

on the narrative form and whether this

is the end of civilization as we know it.

But the visionary in me, the futurist,

rejoices in the possibilities ahead.

These much-maligned but brilliant

Millennials will bring changes to

a form I know and love well.

I can’t wait to see what’s coming.

They hold such promise for a new world.

We raised them to be different from us,

and when they are, so many complain.

(I confess to a soft spot for them—

I feel more myself with them than

with many of my peers, who seem so old.)

These young ones who don’t see gender,

race, religion as “we” do and so will build

a better world. Or so I dream.

These young ones who blithely

traverse, on video screens, the post-

apocalyptic scenes that were the

stuff of my Cold War childhood’s nightmares.

What I feared would be my fate,

They find a playground, museum,

or perhaps just another imaginary

backdrop to practice strategy.

Yes, I think, there’s something there.

Something that may

be a bridge to understanding,

or, conversely, the uncrossable divide.

Only time and thought and work

will tell.