playing the game

when your son was little,
out of school
for summer
he'd wake up early
and play monopoly by
himself. when you came
home from work,
eight hours later,
he'd still be at it.
dishes and empty
cups around him where
his mother brought
him food and drinks.
his eyes would be dark
and hollow from all
the wheeling and dealing
that he had to do
to own nearly everything
except Baltic
and Marvin Gardens.
the stack of money
was tall beside him.
exhausted he would finally
put the game away,
explaining to you
how it all went, how
he played fairly,
how the dice kept
rolling his way.