The Game (I)

James Bowden

The game – what a sadomasochistic concept.
I wonder who could have first thought it up, but
I remember my first girlfriend and the world makes sense again.
You say I’m unnaturally calm, but I swear
I fought with this girl every night for a whole
semester – mostly because she felt I didn’t give
her enough time and attention, but we spent all
that I had to give being upset there wasn’t
more. As high schoolers, she told me she’d liked me
since the second grade. That she and Emily,
the girl who tried to win me over with
gifts of Pokemon cards until I told her I wasn’t
that into Pokemon (should have told her I
hadn’t a hormone in my body at the time either),
were nemeses because of me. That once, Emily cut
her in line at the water fountain so she could
drink directly after me, and osmose whatever of my
essence (probably just sweaty saliva) had been left
behind.
That’s right – better get in line to buy my
last night’s bathwater. Oh, I meant to point out
how she and I never could compromise, and thus
lost whatever game we were playing. You too –
how’s that for audience relatability?

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This poem was written as a part of a coterie during my poetry class (Spring 2022) with Eve and Antonia, the topic being “the game”. For the uninitiated, the game is essentially that any time you think of it, you lose. Anyhow, this is to say that much context is lost.