2 carajillos on a corner table
one baileys, one brandy
You play white, move first
the smoke extends, over the table
at our backs a girl bitches about her girlfriend
to a girlfiend, and a waiter drops a tray
with a clatter that seems to affect
the course of the smoke that courses
upwards from an ashtray.
You move first, attacking with talk of moving forward
your pawns arranged in a piercing v
a native american arrowhead
i move black to distract you
opening up your back line,
With a flick of the eyes down and to the side
you notice and swiftly counter
moving pieces to protect and the war starts
on two fronts.
"she's mixed up, ill in the head"
the girl behind explains and her friend
ashamed, plays confidant
unwilling to enrage
We play till late, the coffee drained
the lines blurred, fingers blood stained
From fallen knights and gallant acts of
strategic self-sacrifice.
Until the game stalemates,
without an end, our fingers locked
black and white across the table
A glance betrays the two glasses
empty save for flecks of coffee foam
Identical in all except the memory
of what they once contained.
Foto: Ari Marcopolous
