Board Game

 

Board Game

 

 

Why

now tell me that you want to play

some ancient board game again?

Was it the one you chucked away,

with vivid bright, primary colours?

Two counters to fall on one square

and you’ll miss your turn, be sent

back home to stick, twist and burn

in emerald flames of self-doubting

till it was all over bar the shouting.

 

Why

now choose to bring us here again,

nine months lapsing or maybe ten?

The struggle it takes to remember

only matches all the grief it takes

to forget and is scarcely worth it.

We could quickly dust it all down,

pull it out from beneath our beds,

unbox it with pursed resigned sighs.

Well, let us set out musty pawns,

disentomb some dog-eared boards

notched in neglect, passing seasons,

where it rotted in tears and reasons.

 

Why

now handwave and say it’s all fine

because any problem is solely mine;

a past only living in my dark mind?

It consumes time to express regret,

sure. So, shall we both sit opposite,

trotting our counters and complete

leaden circuits once more? Compete

friendly as rivals, cunning at poking

gentle jibes of perhaps only joking? 

Mirrors reflect imperfect silhouettes;

easily our hands could cup cool dice,

shake, baby, shake a six to sacrifice

in the name of stratagem or demise;

how long before, bright blinding light

bares Miss Scarlet wielding lead pipe?

 

Why

now get out of jail and, in passing go,

land on no chance at all? I know how

if you put your lips around it and blow,

you’re talking whistles and waterworks.

Away with Cluedo, and if you’re lonely

shake tail feathers among show ponies

on the beach, watch washing breakers

erase cheapskate hopscotch heartaches

of scores, written for you on the sand.

Many chances of winning thrown away,

until even fate refuses to throw or play

again; won’t even bother to draw lots

as to whether you make it home or not.