Not Exactly Monopoly
We drag the past behind us in faded green
duffle bags or dented suitcases, lugging it
from square to square. From a ten room
co-op on Park Place, to a condo
on Kentucky Avenue with moldy carpets,
to a cramped apartment on Baltic Avenue,
collecting a measly two hundred dollars
each time we pass Go.
When we feel our future is shapeless
& the Free Parking lot is full
when we can’t afford the Luxury Tax
& our eyes are dim & drawn
we dump a bag or two on the floor, dusty
thimbles, Scottie dogs, top hats & wheelbarrows,
reminding us of games lasting for weeks
us kids cheating, hollering, giggling, gloating.
We feed on the past not noticing
it is wilted & wizened,
certain it is the past that keeps us alive.
But suppose the past has foreclosed
the future, sending it directly to Jail,
Do Not Pass Go, no Get Out of Jail Free card
left in the deck, no more laps around the board,
no more hotels on St. James Place,
our race car stalled on Water Works.
We smell the lilacs in Marvin Gardens
where the future is the only place
with possibility.
duffle bags or dented suitcases, lugging it
from square to square. From a ten room
co-op on Park Place, to a condo
on Kentucky Avenue with moldy carpets,
to a cramped apartment on Baltic Avenue,
collecting a measly two hundred dollars
each time we pass Go.
When we feel our future is shapeless
& the Free Parking lot is full
when we can’t afford the Luxury Tax
& our eyes are dim & drawn
we dump a bag or two on the floor, dusty
thimbles, Scottie dogs, top hats & wheelbarrows,
reminding us of games lasting for weeks
us kids cheating, hollering, giggling, gloating.
We feed on the past not noticing
it is wilted & wizened,
certain it is the past that keeps us alive.
But suppose the past has foreclosed
the future, sending it directly to Jail,
Do Not Pass Go, no Get Out of Jail Free card
left in the deck, no more laps around the board,
no more hotels on St. James Place,
our race car stalled on Water Works.
We smell the lilacs in Marvin Gardens
where the future is the only place
with possibility.
November / December 2022
Claire Scott is an award winning poet who has received multiple Pushcart Prize nominations. Her work has appeared in the Atlanta Review, Bellevue Literary Review, New Ohio Review, Enizagam and Healing Muse among others. Scott is the author of Waiting to be Called and Until I Couldn’t. She is the co-author of Unfolding in Light: A Sisters’ Journey in Photography and Poetry.
Art: Pause for Cigarette. Oil on canvas. T. Aguilera.