I was never sure if I liked the smell of his house,
Mac and cheese, always mac and cheese.
As a den of memories, carefully tucked away in the corridors of my mind,
There could be worse smells associated with this Golden Age.
The blue carpet was a rough, matted mess,
Each prickling fiber creating new wrinkles of childhood delight.
Their fruit roll ups tasted the best,
As does anything that you take without asking.
My friend, my best friend, hated that I loved video games so much,
Yet for all his miniature brilliance,
There was an acceptance of me and my scrambled, electronic preoccupation.
When I think back to those days, dominated by my friend’s ridiculous bowl cut,
I think of myself blowing into the reaches of that magic box.
I think of the red, 8 bit curtain rising on a hulking tube television,With a friend sitting by my side.