Splitscreen

In the old days we played classic games
sitting side by side in your dark room
to escape the people outside
shouting through the window blinds.

We’d chase each other through digital
abstractions of real places
and gun each other down for hours.
Parking garages and old factories
always raining and rusted.

When we were tired,
the empty soda cans
toppled around us as we climbed up
to the top bunk, and slept days away
like nothing even mattered.

I’d hide from you in corners
and kill you when you found me.
The screen split horizontally
dividing my eyes
from yours but after a while you’d watch
my half to keep track of where I was,
and then I would be the one to die
those lucky times.

These days we are far apart,
the memories all fading every morning,
before I bulldoze freezing sand
around an empty lot for money.
I cannot picture you beyond
your dog bitten bare legs
when I look back on things.

Sometimes I’m reminded
when I hear familiar
sound effects or a screen’s shine
hits my face like light of day
and I start searching for a certain view,
like a golden sky or dying field of violets,
all in the hope that somehow you
will see what I see,
which is all you ever used to need
to find me.