The Game of Life

I used to count those babies like I could control
How I played the Game of Life
I would stick one, two, three, however many
Blue or pink plastic figures in my little plastic car
Make a deal with my opponent
You can pick yours, too, and it’s okay to play this way
That way I’d plan things as if I could for real
I used to count my hopes on two hands
Like one wasn’t big enough for
All my happiness
For the wishes I had of crowded kitchens
Hot with children’s voices and
Rolling water pots filled with pasta
I counted out my life
And expected things
To go
Just so
Now I count differently
I still need two hands
But more than half of those
Are marking loss
My little digit reminders of
Every time I bled too soon
Of every time I got fucked by this game