The iron’s been retired,

also rocking horse, lantern

purse. All replaced by the cat

(beating diamond-ringed guitar-

strapped robot with his ‘copter)

thus now one of 8: thimble,

Scottie dog. top-hatted, shoed

in wheel-barrow, racing car


or battleship(not always

in that order). How they vie

with each other! Soon there’ll be

boards in Saigon or Moscow,

while dicing hands clasp and pray

for double sixes, get out

of jail cards, Banker’s bonus

for just passing Go.


Let’s privatise stations,

utilities, make Mayfair

your goal, buy Old Kent Rd cheap!

Charge high rents, avoid taxes,

bring back the men on horseback,

money bags, the cannon. Out-

fox your foes with feline stealth.

Where next? Manhattan? Berlin?




© Marek Urbanowicz.








I don’t know if you know this,

and why should you after all,

it is not obvious, not

signposted, and the way is

cul-de-sac’d, blind alley’d. Paths

lead you sweetly down them, then

end barb wired, brick walled. And maps

don’t help. Not Google, Sat Nav

nor dowsing since it ‘s a game

of snaking ladders and up

to the chanced throw of the dice

-luck in the twist of the wrist


Wet fingered to the West wind,

you’re mazed, without memory,

each second repeats the same.

Your sight is 20/60.

Should you climb to what you thought

was the top you could slip,

arse first, come slithering down.

And if you reach that last square,

where you have pinned all your hopes,

(having thrown the right number),

it turns out it’s all a game

behind a game and you start…


© Marek Urbanowicz.