At the Monster’s Table

When we were young
we had playing-card sized monsters
that roamed about on laminate tables
creating a vortex
for people with nothing else in common
to be drawn towards each other.
The awkward
the misunderstood
the angry
the misinformed
(if you can be correctly informed at that age)
they all found a seat at the monster’s table.

In that place
there were heroes
to be sure
generally adorned in glimmering silver plate mail
holding a polished blade to the heavens.

But the villains always won out
they were the ones that we all wanted to be
taking their time
to hatch diabolical
(though to us,
pretty damn cool)
plans.
Claiming to know the fate of the entire world.
(usually doom)
Opening themselves up to defeat
by missing a step here or there
proving over and over
that they weren’t as detail-oriented
as their pride might make you think.

Their examples distilled a distinct impression:
Take what you want
never live with failure
and above all else
continually monologue
without fail
until the day you die.

My 15 –year-old self would be so disappointed
I don’t think I’ve monologued
a single solitary second.

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