Victor and the Video Games

Victor was a vibrant and vivacious little boy,
And being active gave him an immeasurable joy.
He ran and jumped and climbed and swung, with vigour, verve, and vim,
For the backyard and the playground served as Victor's private gym.

His energy waned not, as his imagination soared,
And, since he was so creative, he never did get bored.
His neighbours, Vince and Vivian, loved playing Victor's games,
Since each day was an adventure, and nothing stayed the same.
They played scuba divers, space explorers, soccer, and stickball
And vociferous complaints ensued as twilight became nightfall,
As the sun settled in for bedtime, 'neath its comforter of dusk,
And the woods behind their houses whispered their enchanting musk
Of cool nighttime air that beckoned, as the pines danced in the breeze,
But their mothers dragged them inside, and bemoaned their scab-flecked knees,
Their mosquito-bitten arms and legs, their mud-stained shirts and jeans,
They implored, "Why can't you children just play inside, and stay clean?
For, clothing is expensive, money doesn't grow on trees,
So please, choose less dirty pastimes, if your moms you want to please."
Said Victor, Vince and Vivian, "We love the great outdoors,
We love sitting 'round a campfire, telling stories, making 'smores,
Playing treehouse hide-and-seek, and racing sailboats when it rains!
To deprive us of these pleasures would be unjust and insane!"

But somehow, Victor's mother knew her son would change his tune,
When she came home the next morning, from Samson's Sale Saloon
In her shopping bag she carried Samson's latest trendy toy,
The envy of the playground, the dearest wish of any boy,
A video game console, with a stack of flashy games,
So her son would not get muddy, and his clothes would stay unmaimed
By abrasive, ruthless asphalt, by the branches of the trees,
With their sharp and spindly claws that lacerated tender knees,
And elbows of the children, who sought shelter in their grasp
And upon their coming home, evoked so many startled gasps
From their mothers, who ran screaming for the Band-Aids and Bactine,
Knowing full well that tomorrow'd bring a repeat of that scene.

So Mother came inside, and plugged the console in the wall,
So that Victor would be sheltered from life's bruises, bumps, and falls.
And although at first he wasn't sure this toy was any fun,
By lunchtime, he'd been suckered in, and Mom knew her work was done.
For, the real world was imperfect, unlike the one on-screen,
It contained the risk of injuries, needing Band-Aids and Bactine.

But Victor's pixellated self bounced back time and again,
And before long, the REAL Victor felt a sort of vapid zen,
His once-vibrant eyes glazed over, and his brain turned into mush,
And anyone who came in the room, he harshly told to hush.
For, Victor's concentration was now like a laser beam,
And if anyone objected, he'd belligerently scream,
"How can you DARE disturb me? I've progressed to level eight!
I've beaten my old record, and I'm doing really great!
Forget about the outside world, my life is now in HERE!"
And now Mother's wish was granted, as she'd prayed, and hoped, and feared.

Vince and Vivian came knocking, and found the shades were closed,
And when they came inside, they found their old friend indisposed,
With his hands glued to the joystick, and his eyes fixed on the screen,
They begged him to come play outside, but he was now hostile and mean.
So they ran to Victor's mother, and told her what they saw,
And begged with all their might that she'd again lay down the law.

So Mother said to Victor, in her meanest "Mommy voice,"
"Go and play with Vince and Vivian, you DO NOT have a choice!
I know I said before that getting dirty was a sin,
But even mothers can be wrong, as I have realized with chagrin.
I'd rather you get muddy, tear your trousers, skin your knees,
For, an idle imagination is much worse, as I now see.
Soap and water are great remedies for dirt, sap, and grass stains,
And a Power Rangers Band-Aid can heal any ache and pain.
But let your young mind dwindle, and the damage has been done,
And your innocence is ruined, by cheap, fabricated "fun."

So the children went outside, with stickball bats and sidewalk chalk,
And Mother was impressed with the effects of her big talk.
But out of curiosity, at the console game's appeal,
A primal, burning urge in her right thumb, she began to feel.
Her hands itched for the joystick, and she finally gave in,
And flicked on the T.V., with just a slight twinge of chagrin.
Indefinite hours later, the children came inside,
And found Mother prone and lifeless, like a whale beached by the tide,
Staring blankly at the T.V. screen, with the controller in her hand,
And that was all it took them, to realize that her plan
Had backfired with a vengeance, for when they asked her, "What's for dinner?"
She told them, "Let me finish this, then you can play the winner!"