Kriegspiel
Knight to Queen’s Bishop three.
Knight to King’s Bishop six.
A long, thoughtful pause
Then a bloody melee
With all the usual pawns
Being slaughtered en passant.
The players consent to chop wood
Till Black strikes with his Rook
And thrusts an Arabian Mate
Past the Pale Queen’s tenderloin
Once her King had abandoned his castle
And found he’d gained no compensation.
Sleepers awake from baroque contemplations
Plucking G strings to a whiter shade
Of whatever fair Caïssa
Chooses to wear the day she weds.
It’s the way the game is played.
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