A Game Of Chess - David Beckman

[Larry Robinson]

A Game Of Chess

My white-square bishop moves on a diagonal, looking 
for love. Upends an enemy knight who, cursing in Old 
French inflames my king's rook who hurls insults 

in Gaelic and commands a phalanx of pawns to march left-right,
left-right until victorious or dead. Off the board, at the brick 
kiln, a captured rook negotiates for new battlements as tiny 

archers ring the base, drinking monk's ale. My king,  
somnolent, self-satisfied, surveys the field as if he 
owns it while my queen, hungry for contact, paws 

the ground with her fighting slippers. And I, testosterone
amok, elbows framing the carnage, coax my brain 
toward endgame as the remaining enemy knight leaves 

the board, corners me in my chair and exhales pungent 
nasal mist that stings my eyes and dulls my nerves. 
I stand, do a slow turn like a drunken dancer, and resign.

	- David Beckman

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