Friday, June 19, 2015

POEM: "Endgame"


Playing to fuck someone
pieces all black or all white
(the table belongs to someone else)

I carve some pieces myself
but the tactics have no colour
the opening generally sucks

No clear platform of rules
the other’s pieces willy-nilly
they’re put neatly to one side

Middle game’s a slaughter
tenderness a gambit that works
the glass walls of the obvious

Storm turns thunder comes
endgame nearly wrecks the bed
one two lightnings bump the mind

© 2015 Rob Schackne

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