Arcade

©2004 Harvey H. Warwick III

Lurking in the corner of the penny arcade
Back behind the brighter and the newer machines
Is a game that doesn't quite as often get played
But is never idle, no, not by any means.
It is a mechanical marvel that's likely
Something that was built in the Victorian Age:
Little metal figurines, painted quite brightly
Push a little wooden ball that drops in a cage.
See the little figurines dance to the music
Coming from a music box inside, it would seem.
There is nothing here that appears electronic
But looks more like clockwork and just possibly, steam.
There's something slightly sinister about that game
The way it keeps playing when the power goes out.
Exactly what I'm scared of I cannot quite name
But I would never play that game, I have no doubt.
The music comes to haunt me at the oddest times:
Nothing quite like it have I ever heard before.
It isn't a piano but sound more like chimes
Arranged into a seemingly unending score.
It's not exactly what you'd call a shoot-em-up
And has no cartoon characters, nor is it cute
But try to guide that wooden ball into the cup
And you'll be there so long that you just might take root.
Could it be that those figurines had once been real?
Were all of them just people who had played the game
And then became enchanted when they touched the wheel
That steers the wooden ball, and then they all became
Little figurines who are compelled to dance
To some unearthly music they cannot recall
Nor get away from, just because they took a chance
And then became the servants of a wooden ball?
If I could find a hammer, I would smash that thing
And maybe break the spell that hold its victims bound.
Then I would pick the pieces up, and these I'd fling
Into the nearest dumpster where they'd not be found.

9/04