{"id":11278,"date":"2015-06-13T20:36:28","date_gmt":"2015-06-14T00:36:28","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/?p=11278"},"modified":"2015-06-13T20:38:43","modified_gmt":"2015-06-14T00:38:43","slug":"drones","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/2015\/06\/drones\/","title":{"rendered":"Drones"},"content":{"rendered":"<p style=\"text-align: center\"><strong>Drones<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>When I was twelve years old, I enjoyed playing board games like Risk. In Risk, I tried to conquer the world \u2013 and so did my friend, Dwayne, who I used to compete against as we sat on the white concrete driveway behind our red brick row homes. Like military drones we hovered over a primary-colored, two-dimensional world that lay beneath us at ground-level. Dwayne and I took over countries one at a time by rolling sets of dice. Every outcome depended on chance. Whoever was lucky enough to roll the higher number conquered territories with make-believe armies. Whoever was unlucky got territories taken over. Continents fell to the victor. The game ended. No one was incinerated. No one was blown up. No one lost a son. No one lost a daughter. No one lost a loved one, like when I was twenty-one and thought I had to go to Viet Nam but didn\u2019t because I got a medical deferment. But Dwayne went to Viet Nam. He fought and died there. He had skin in the game.<\/p>\n<p>Today, alone, seated comfortably in a cushioned chair with a tablet computer on my lap, I watch YouTube videos of Drones playing Risk overseas in the Middle East. But I don\u2019t have fun like I did when I watched the outcome of the dice in my driveway with Dwayne. Too many people have skin in the game, often young dark skin. Drones have no skin.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Drones When I was twelve years old, I enjoyed playing board games like Risk. In Risk, I tried to conquer the world \u2013 and so did my friend, Dwayne, who I used to compete against as we sat on the white concrete driveway behind our&#8230;<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":319,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[11,13,1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-11278","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-half-marathon-poem","category-miscellaneous","category-uncategorized"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/11278","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/319"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=11278"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/11278\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":11290,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/11278\/revisions\/11290"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=11278"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=11278"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=11278"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}