“The child who does not play is not a child,

but the man who does not play has lost forever

the child who lived within him.” – Pablo Neruda

It started with a new box purchased

from B. Dalton or the comic book store.

The weird dice and deliberately dry

literature were often a hard sell.

You had to find the right kind of person –

a real pretender.

For the layman, D&D is cops and robbers

but with rules (and wizards).

Games can take six hours, twelve

if you’re good at it.

And those rules I mentioned don’t mean a thing,

because it’s all just make believe.

The camaraderie created Saturday night legends.

Real heroes, their tales having been told,

left fabled tabletops and retired

to mundane suburbs.

Sundays rooted in dull reality.

Most stopped pretending once life

really got going, buried boxes

were stowed away into attics

or cramped basements, their once crisp corners

have been caved in and the clichéd figures

on the covers, scuffed and worn.