sportscar: She’s touching the wheels when the call comes; she’s young, tonguing the hood in the mannish slang of the last century. Lipsticked, she’s a sport, a shiny body.
thimble: You thought it a helmet, dainty with immunity; you thought you’d hide in bed but we snuffed out the thumbsuck, the meat stuck under your fingernail.
horse & rider: Imagine this could go on: collecting profits, paying dues, rolling the dice to land on the carpet, where it’s your bluff. Imagine rearing up and exposing yourself. As if you cared: As if no one would snicker at your haunches, made of chalk, while on the boardwalk the rains start.
My poem yesterday was about Monopoly pieces. I still need to do the wheelbarrow, the shoe and the cannon, and spruce up the top hat.
I’ve never enjoyed Monopoly. It takes too long and it’s mean spirited. Nevertheless, on those occasions when I’ve had my arm twisted, my parental guilt stirred, or just lacked an excuse for not being available, I usually choose one of the homier tokens to be me on the board, ie the wheelbarrow, the shoe or the thimble. Of course, pyschologically, this reveals my lack of ambition. I never want to be the cannon because it’s obnoxious. And the iron, although among the homey pieces, looks too fragile. I’m lukewarm on the others. I read on the Hasbro site that the race car was voted the all-time favorite piece. Keep in mind the people who vote on that are the people who like Monopoly.
After the selection of the totem vehicle, Monopoly falls apart for me. It’s no fun unless you’re winning. And if you find winning Monopoly a pleasure, you’re something of a sadist.
When I moved to Germany it was disturbing to find out how the Monopoly street names were German streets! No more Marvin Gardens, no Park Place, no Baltic Avenue. This shouldn’t have surprised me, but it made the game all the less appealing. I mean, if I couldn’t visit the old haunts…
