The streets of Brooklyn kept him safe from harm.
He toiled beneath the dirty sinks,
and wondered where his grand adventure lay.
His friends: dreams and a beer or ten.
His overalls were stained and reeked of filth.
Destiny found him and he became lost in dream.
He fell and tumbled into deadly pipes
of green. A man with only wits and strength;
a foreign world of spikes and turtles. Win or
lose, now he is a hero. Behind
each castle, another toadstool waits for
him. Giant monsters clad in devil shells,
releasing flaming torrents, mock his clothes:
a worthless plumber, Mario is no hero.
An Italian warrior, now equipped, he breaks
through stone to save a princess fair.
He still contends with pipes, though darker, grim.
Away from Brooklyn, heroes rise from murk
to seize a life less mundane. They win. With
only a quarter, game over is not an option.