Ender's Game

More rain. The pavement is dark with wet and I’m inside Reading by cloudy light. Eyes straining. Orson Scott Card makes my head ache As much as he makes it think. I am Ender, Or so I like to think. I am Valentine too: Guilty and conniving. Perhaps I am even Peter, The dark recesses of my desires Chiseling my ambitions into evil. Perhaps if I weren’t so damn lazy, I would be as endlessly dangerous As the Wiggins. Perhaps if I weren’t stretched across The living room couch; Full to bursting with M&Ms And the anticipation for a story I already know. I’m oblivious to the world Until Dad breaks my concentration, Until I’ve turned the last page And left the Speaker for the Dead Travelling across the universe With his scheming sister. It’s raining outside And it’s raining in me, The same as it always is When the words have drained themselves And I’m still as unsatisfyingly unsuccessful as before. I oughtn’t read in half-light. I’m too melancholy To be left alone in the near-dark.