The Aged Munich Chess Player

He sat, inclined slightly,
      sloped like a Merlin
without a spell,
      retired, no longer up for sale,
yet grinning to  himself, rightly
      pleased, self-possessed
and feeling well,
content a somewhat younger male

would bite the dust on one white
      hope.  His hand hovered,
palm-down, grey
      translucent skin taut, clutched
a bishop's head, and, as in flight
      the eagle plunges
after prey,
he fell then on an unwise pawn, touched

down gracefully and sighed 'check mate'.
      The seconds slowed, stopped
and deep doubt
      turned to disbelief.  When it
grew quite clear I had no sleight
his final clout
or time to parry his secret

of success I leaned back and stared
      at those milk-blue eyes,
intent, on
      lease above that board.  I gave in,
smiling, as one, new, learning, dared;
      a game of chess brings home
what's gone
and grants each age its chance to win.

© R.G. Bishop