I sigh
after all it’s only
a game of scrabble
(has it ever led to war
or Gender-Based Violence)

out in the little village
with a scrabbling elder
who plays seriously
at nearby libraries like
Grassy Park and Southfield

I stick to words
my mother learned me
though her sister Marie’s
jo still gets me ruffled
as it did my mom back then

Our scrabbler leaves
the game to fetch
his scrabble dictionary
and that dastardly
2-word wordlist bible

(one would have thought
they were cuss-words
car number-plates imaginably
words alien to my everyday
though not to the country’s
cohort of poor spellers)

On principle I refuse
to play the word zo
(what will the children say)
commenting that I would not
be able to live with myself

I get whuppered
(don’t ask whether
that is a word or not)
but I reason it’s only a game

Out in the little village
we scrabble away genially
me non-competitively
as is my wont
(though score is kept)

I get whuppered

A fairly good-humoured morning of scrabbling and chit-chat is had out at the Lansdowne Library, Saturday morn, 14 March 2020, loadshedding notwithstanding!