My Cardboard Balcony

My Wallet by Belinda Roddie My wallet likes to hide itself, it's true; it seems to be quite intuitive when I try to spend my hard-earned cash on you, because it slips into the void. And then, as I attempt to pay for groceries, or if I try to pay utility bills, it reemerges, somehow at ease by my life decisions. And yet, you see, when I am buying a gift or spending money on a restaurant jaunt, there it conceals itself again! I swear, a thing such as my wallet shouldn't care a bit about my habits, yet it stows away, as if to encourage more frugal days.

Play a board game with me, love - or two, or three. Whatever tickles your fancy, really. I'm in high spirits, drunk on pear and cinnamon and ginger. I'm floating on a cloud with armrests and an ottoman, and I'm waiting to hear you laugh as you get a triple word score, or you sink my battleship, or you achieve the ultimate monopoly. Then, while the night is still young, we'll remain young, too, dancing like children, smiling like strangers, and kissing like confidants.