The Pachinko Machine
If I remember it right
they found it at a Sears store
among the hammers
(remember the Sears nut counter, where you could buy a warm paper bag of red-skinned peanuts while you shopped for nails and screws?)
They stood, looking at it,
for a sweet long time
talking to the salesman.
The pachinko machine
stood there, mute,
exotic, beautiful, unnecessary.
(how did it get here, from Japan to this midwestern hardware store? who signed his name to this shipment?)
My parents were generally
frugal and practical. This was not
the sort of thing they bought.
My grammar school heart raced:
“Please oh please oh please.”
I imagined hours of joy,
pressing that lever,
rocketing the shiny metal balls
to the top of the game
then watching them fall like hail,
plinking and jumping
among the wire pins,
willing them along the certain path
to release a fortune in shiny metal balls.
My heartbeat pleas
plinked in my chest.
“Please do this one wild thing”.
This is my offering for last week’s summer writing camp prompt: Plink.
This week’s prompt (if you happen to be playing along): Persuasion…