The Games We Played

Sometimes
I think of myself
Like a page of spot the difference
Covered in circles of a red pen
Marking each little change
That I haven’t noticed
Because I’ve been staring too intently
Looking for the obvious

And I’ve since erased
The words from the mad libs
So they read a little differently
Without the words I used to use
About a girl
I wonder if I used to love

Not to forget the pinprick
Of numbered dots
Scattered across my skin
That joining together
Will show you the picture
Of pasts fading quickly
Of presents hesitantly being connected
As if unsure
They’re going in the right direction
And futures
That were just the dots out of order
Trying to make my own image

And these games we played
With a wager of hearts
But she never drew one from the deck

A poem by Colm Horgan