one of the few...

The following is the result of my efforts to avoid adulterating my own verse (as in, this is one of the few poems that survived my summer purgatory of stressed writing). I don't know if I even like it, but whatever. I'm just self-conscious (and very much hyper-aware) of my ever apparent lack of literary understanding. And ftoywdrs (for those of you who don't read Shakespeare), it's written about my favorite scene in his play, The Tempest (if anything, I'm hoping writing about this will give me good karma when I play THE CHESS GAME, but we'll see).

Miranda v. Ferdinand, Round 1
(Before Prospero discovers Ferdinand and Miranda playing at chess.)

The game was never yours to play. (I knew
before we began.) Your lone pawn advancing.
Knights jumping once, twice. Bishops and queens waltzing
down white halls. Kings pacing. Afraid to lose,
your pieces darted and ran while I hopscotched,
throwing my rook here, dropping my knight there,
wooden shapes skipping from square to square.

(Curtains rustled, artful eyes squinted, watched.)

You blundered, sweeping away black and black
(but only I could see). Cat-and-mousing
my own king, I gave you your crowning attack.

(Looking up, I saw a curtained smile.)

Checking my grin, I brushed off defeat's sting
Knowing through losing I captured a king.