Chimney pots on high rooftops,

like chess men in a row.

Some with crowns and some quite plain,

all standing there on show.

When it’s dark and no one stirs,

is a game played under stars?

Do they all return at dawn,

or stay where they are borne?

 

Do Bishops rush to and fro,

to catch an unsuspecting foe.

And can the Knights, like cavalry,

charge and leap to set men free?

Will a Queen, with stately force,

check a King or cross the board,

leaving in her regal wake,

the shattered chaff of power?

 

I see Rooks on corner guard,

waiting for a Pawn to move,

to release their latent power,

on the checkered board.

Do the Pawns, like us below,

move where we’re supposed to go?

Never quite in charge of life,

just part of a great show?

 
 
David Garlick, Cheltenham, England, 1986