Playing House
We didn’t play house as children
Because that was the grown up’s game
And we didn’t like the way of the grown ups
Which was always the same old game.
Like theirs, our games ended with a mom and a dad
Screaming at each other while the rest of us
Stood around wide eyed and dumbfounded
Until one or the other stormed out of the shaded grove
And slammed a pretend door behind them
We played a game called anything goes
First there was dancing and singing
Stomping and breaking
Shouting and clanging
Poisons and antidotes
Bows and arrows
Cities and hovels
We were angels on days when God was away
Then everyone took five minutes of self time
Spaced equidistantly throughout the prickle tree grove
And concentrated on what they most wanted to do
Or to be or to sing or to share
And then it would happen—
We’d all be doing exactly what each of us wanted
Which was to be doing it all together.
Then we would take turns
Playing indeterminate bit roles
In every one else’s private game.
The more you knew the person
The easier it was to go with the flow.
Sometimes you ended up with a major part
You never knew you played in someone else’s life.
But it was never meant for us.
That wouldn’t have been enough.
We would have grown bored
After just a few afternoons playing.
Once the final scene from the last game
Involving all of us had played out
We’d vote on which one was the “best” and which the “most fun”
You would think that would be the same
But it never was.
We’d then return to the regular world
And re-enact our “best” game
In front of the first group of people we crossed.
If no one noticed, other than to shoo us
Out of the way, then we had lost.
But if someone stopped to watch
It was a win.
Twice a man clapped
And once, an old lady wept.
The “most fun” game we kept
To ourselves
But never played again
And soon forgot
When we grew up
We started to remember
But only the least important parts,
The ones we thought were real.
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