Robin Gow
We Play Life
and I pick a pink piece and say I’m going to be
a pink man. We’re all plastic. Everything’s plastic, including
my desire. The blue car because there’s
no train in Life. I’m a computer engineer or a dancer.
I choose a dancer even though it’s less money
because I’m plastic now and I’ll do what I want.
We’re going to live for an hour or two at most.
We’re going to grow up and have children and houses.
Does my pink man walk down the streets between spins
looking at everything he doesn’t have? Does he think
yes I wish I had a lawn to hold a hydrangea bush?
Or does he only think of the squares of the sidewalk
and how he wants to die fastest. I get married to
another pink peg and we live out of my car. He is
quiet and he wants children. No, he doesn’t want children
he knows that they will come. We pick plastic children
from a bag. Some blue some purple some pink.
They’re all silent. We give them names they forget.
We put them in the back seat and tell them about
our mistakes—tell them we are trying to win a game
and their bodies will help us. When they cry
no sound comes out so it’s almost
peaceful. He says I shouldn’t have been
a dancer. I pull another card and we win
the lottery. I pull another card and we lose
all of our savings in a lawsuit. I pull another card
and it’s time to choose a house. We need one as
huge and plastic as they come. I ask him
if he still loves me and he doesn’t answer because
we’re busy. We’re going to win. All the other
families cars are far behind us. We are fabulous
at aging. Our children have names. I am a dancer
and everyone recognizes my body. I ask him
if he still loves me and if we can fuck in our
big giant plastic house with my pink plastic
dildo and he doesn’t answer me again so I
cry plastic tears. I want someone to
tell me what they think about
the blocks of sidewalk that go onward
into the stovetop sun where we would melt
if we weren’t careful. I want him to love me
like whirling, like a spinner, like we’re spinning
like all our children are just filling up
the car. Our blue car breaks down
and we’re not going to reach the end.
Life is flat and cardboard. I threaten to
drive off the edge and everyone says no no no
you’re doing so well it’s just a game.
But I’m clearly losing. It’s clearly over.
House by house by house. We walk as plastic
ghosts between them. We count our money
as we are so full. Instead of asking if he loves me
I ask if there’s anything else I could give him.