Sunday, June 09, 2013

Poem #69: The Chess Players

The Chess Players

That, he said, is exactly what I expected.
From the kitchen there erupted a barrage 
of clamoring pots and cupboards slamming, 
until (after an eerily silent pause)
the door swung inward on its hinge,
propped open by a denim-clad hip.
The steaming platter of crisp-skinned 
chicken and oven-gilded parsnips, 
rutabagas, carrots and potatoes
landed in front of him with a clatter. Meanwhile the kids, wide-eyed 
but otherwise expressionless, looked
--first at one, then at the other--
as if following a chess game at the 
cracked concrete tables in the park, 
where frighteningly old men 
in sweat-darkened shirts smoked 
acrid cigars and rumbled 
their low, sordid laughter 
at incomprehensible jokes. 

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Photo: Joye


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