The dominoes go head to toe.
They must line up precisely so.
Why that’s so, we do not know.
It was determined long ago.
Rules of the game were made to last
ages ago, long in the past.
They tell us when to break our line,
when turning sideways is just fine.
Who can play, in perfect order.
How to avoid the table’s border.
When to ride each other’s train,
then when it is forbidden again.
Necessary rules to follow
lest our world turn blank and hollow?
Senseless rules to senseless games,
we line up tokens on boards and frames.
Sometimes the stakes are higher when
the rules, determined by famous men,
turn life and death, each token one
less calculated to end in fun.
All game pieces hidden away,
there to use some other day
when some fool says it’s okay.
Secrecy the rules of play.
Suddenly, the play’s no fun.
We want the gaming to be done.
Put away the games and toys.
It’s time for you to grow up, boys.
The prompt in NaPoWriMo today is to write a poem that incorporates the vocabulary and imagery of a specific sport or game. Mine was based on the domino game called “Chickenfoot” or “Mexican Train.” Ironically, in Mexico it is called “Tren Cubano” or “Cuban Train.” Guess everyone likes to pass the buck.