After her dice roll, she pushes her wheelbarrow across the stiff cardboard,
lands on an already owned street that’s as bare as a honey puff pussy.
At least she doesn’t have to pay double yet, she tells the banker and hands
rent over. In her peripheral, Queens, Explorers, Warriors all laugh like a stack
of Guess Who? faces but when she looks directly at the money it sits
in a static smirk. Not one to mix her games, she focuses hard. Every time
she tries to hook the $, she loses it, and to be honest, is sick of the arcade
crane game of it all. So, she’s drawing a metal cart around town, hungry
for a quick fix and follows the carrot ‘til she’s collected enough faces
to throw at the banker. Eventually, she’ll get to the red plastic tower
and walk up to the rooftop, screaming into a box of Roses filled with
scrunched foil wrappers; a city at night lit by mouths unable to stop.
She wheels her cart around the whole board, rolling back on the same
street where the landlord has already built a city that prices them out
of the neighbourhood and invites them over for dinner,
making them pay to use the cutlery.
Amber Esau is a Sā-māo-rish (Ngāpuhi / Manase) writer of things from Tāmaki Makaurau, with a Gemini Sun / Virgo Moon. She is a poet, storyteller, Amateur Astrologer, and professional bots. Always vibing at a languid pace, her work has been published both in print and online.