World of Warcraft
You always have those jerks
—you know the ones—
They slaughter you without mercy
Regardless of your low level
Because they can,
And instead of moving on
To some greater dark fulfillment
They park on your virtual corpse,
Just waiting for you to resurrect,
Your ghost suspended in the nether realm,
You waiting waiting waiting,
The ugly green orc parked, patient
with all the discipline of the Siberian Sniper.
He hefts his Tyrannical Gladiator’s Decapitator,
Forged in the depths of Orgrimmar,
In fierce anticipation.
You are still waiting to rez,
Wondering the true extent of this tyrant’s
Bored, hawkish cruelty.
Still you wait,
The orc’s unflinching face cool and keen.
Finally you rez …
He promptly kills you again
Doing what tyrants naturally do.
This is how the lonely Nationwide Insurance
Salesman spends his Saturdays,
Sadistic and potent in his dreams
And so beautifully distracted.
If only we could gather all the
Place them in a dark basement
With a lifetime supply of hot pockets.