“Age Old Apology” (Tracy Anderson)

in lands not so far,
new games begin.
Pieces fall into place.

A striking king
rules the game, pursuing
some ancient dream.
Put him here, on the right.

He steps lightly
to the draped bedside of
a sad and lonely queen.
She waits patiently on his left.

He must spawn
a new savior, forge faith
for the fearful bishops.
Men of clothe with corners to cross.

Swinging a sword,
he reigns in wild knights
Who would race off to war.
Horses hurtling two, turning one.

He conquers lands,
climbing the towers of rooks
in order to fly new flags.
Castles grown tall from family lines.

Beads of sweat fall
from his face like jewels,
glisten like the tears of a pawn.
First to go and never to know.

The king sighs with an
age old apology, but then
always checks his mate.
And we play again…


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