The Pickled Egg

A game of chess

They were playing chess under the silent clock
Unmoving for hours in mouth and hand
Glass men glittering in the sunset.
The game, even and fast, bold, decisive
Chances offered and taken
In the name of initiative.
A complex war but really so simple
Thought giving way to reflex
Analysis to response.
Over now, the opening
And towards the end of the middle
Finely poised, weighted, important somehow.
Pieces moving, sometimes taken
Sometimes the takers, moving in patterns
Both players understood without understanding.
Attacks repelled, relaunched, quelled, reversed
Defense adapting. The consolidator, now bold
In his swift movements, and now the end game.
Soft, quick moves, instinct guiding men
Across the board, switching, pressing, tightening
Positions until it is over.

posted by Kenyon @ 3:35 pm