Marlborough Street

Artwork by Charlie Robertson

If I had a Monopoly on my life, 

I’d capitalise on Old Kent Road right through to Northumberland Avenue, 

renovate them and sell them for millions above asking price. 

I’d send out PSAs to all the boys I knew before and  

send them straight to jail – no waiting to roll doubles or  

for one of those Get Out of Jail Free cards. 

No cards for anyone when they take what they want 

without asking. 

When I have a Monopoly on my life, 

I’ll take my Race Car and drive it  

right through the double-glazed windows 

of the Marlborough Street terrace house. 

You know the one – the one with pink roses out front 

and the dog that barks regardless of the weather. 

Surely you remember! The one where I woke  

up on memory foam with little memory of my own. 

When I have a Monopoly on my life, 

I'll be the storm that rips Hills Hoists from their sockets. 

The one you wished you had a bunker for 

five feet underground, soundproofed and 

barricaded from any other bitch in her Race Car or Rubber Ducky 

that comes riding through Fenchurch Station  

screaming ‘Time’s Up’ – scouring their throat with  

the threat of great redemption.  

Together we’ll rob the Community Chest of its good fortune— 

the one that told us we were liars, leeches and all sorts. 

We’ll fly by every utility space you own and 

refuse to pay on principle! 

We’ll sing songs about how we live comfortably on the   

rent you pay us when you think about what happened 

out on Marlborough Street so long ago. 

But I don’t want this ballad for my blues— 

for the seasons that stand alone in my memory. 

You thought you could cry hoax and  

hope you drew the Chance card that promised 

I may never remember anything— 

But I know you took me by your hand when  

I couldn’t walk straight down Fleet Street. I saw those lines  

glow against the head of the dunny as I watched you  

roll a fiver between your fingers and huff it up  

with a wet snout. What great big teeth you had!  

All the better to leave marks— 

But you’re no Mayfair – you’re Pall Mall,  

at best! You hold no real estate on the pictures that 

arrive splashing around in my mind at night.  

But when the tide finally comes in, 

when it is my turn once more, my Race Car and I  

are going to show you just how easy it is  

to send you back three spaces again, and 

again, and again. 

But I know the Monopoly of my life looks a little different— 

I’ll circle the board three times before buying anything, 

convinced that ‘Love will save the day’, and live only  

by that mantra. And when I wind up IN JAIL for the  

eleventh time, I’ll use my only phone call on Whitney and ask her 

why life makes us crazy and why my prayers haven’t been answered. 

She’ll ask me why I called a dead girl’s phone and tell me  

to pay the Banker for my debt then hang up in my ear. 

If I had a Monopoly on my life,  

I’d remember that there is no time for sad stories.  

It's just a game – pass GO, collect $200. 

Move on!