Pac-Man is my minotaur.
I’ve lost the blueprint but from memory
the maze idea emerged first as a way
of mastering the art of being lost
by simulating it under controlled circumstances.
Even then we knew we would need someone
to be heroically repetitive in it for us.
Part man, part pixel he amasses
my hi score capital, chews through unitary light
honing my imperial future, mine
by right of skill but also birth.
Model avatar, pure id, breakfaster-on-ghosts
may I put you on the spot and ask
if you happen to know the way out?
Quick, before the window shuts
and my blinking initials vanish
forever from the end screen of the custom
French walnut tabletop video arcade
circa nineteen eighty-eight.