video games

the problem is our house 
is made of video games, all pixel 
& patchwork & promise. i go downstairs
each  morning to unplug my youngest brother
who has all sorts of wires coming out 
of his head. no, this isn't the classic
argument that video games are rotting 
our brains, this is something else.
all the furniture is easily moved
with the game controller. the fridge
is full of health points. i glance
at my life bar & i'm embarrassed
because everyone else can see i'm dying.
don't you want to beat this level?
he asks. i go upstairs to the attic
where the video games haven't reached yet.
i crawl into a pile of stuffed animals
& think about the video games 
i used to play when i was younger.
there was one where we'd speed cars
& run away from cops. i hear the sirens
outside in the driveway. there was one
where you had to kill dinosaurs
& i hear the metallic screech of
a velociraptor. the video games 
come to find you, they always do &
the stuffed animals turn into real
animal, wriggling in a great pile,
elephants & lions & bears & lizards,
scurrying around me. there stand my
brother, with a controller in 
his hand. he says 
let's play, play, play.