Playing Pinball

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The alternative title of this poem is "Playing Pachinko".

Carpal tunnel twinges
punctuate a torpid afternoon,
as row on row we line the aisles
and stare at nothing
with the guarded anonymity
of urinating men.

My thumb is on the lever,
moving almost imperceptibly,
as marbles rocket into space
and filter down
through obstacles designed
to keep the management in business.

The captive of a chain reaction
freed from craving by acceptance
of the preordained,
I decompose, am compromised,
incorporated by the convolutions
of this artificial universe.

But something breaks
the moment I let go.
The single thread
that holds the world in place is cut,
and once again I fall away
with all my individual needs exposed.


Japan, 1968


Previous version published in Outposts, England

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Hilda Greenhough

Date: 3/19/2025 10:40:00 AM

I enjoy this poem. It speaks to two worlds, I believe, the hypnotic effect of pinball, (I am a female who has invaded the domain), and the similarity of our lives to the chaos of pinball. It's a wonderful poem.

Alan Ireland
Date: 3/20/2025 3:19:00 PM

Thank you. I lived in Japan for 10 years, but played "pachinko" only twice. The second time, I won so much virtual money they disabled the machine! The law said the virtual money had to be exchanged for goods; but someone told me that, if one went "around the corner", one could get actual cash.