The checkered wasteland between them holds the two sides back
She sits behind the white troops; He sits behind the black
Each player ponders awkwardly across the silent divide
Is this the calm before the storm or the lull between the tides?
She sips lukewarm coffee; He coughs into his hands,
Each sizes the other up, guessing at their plans
The long pause before the opening- emotions begin to unwind
But neither player moves forward, with the last game on their minds
He thrusts his pawn anxiously and the tension bursts
But He realizes his mistake- white must always move first
He reaches forward sheepishly, but She moves his piece back
They each smile and nod their heads, then She begins the attack
Only the clink of pieces to breach the ears- no cry from the marble hoards
As casualties are cast asunder on either side of the board
He clenches his fist and She grits her teeth but neither makes a sound
Til a swoop of the arm leaves the table bare, with the pieces on the ground
Another lazy Sunday's spent and none of the battles were won
The only noise is the tick of the clock as together they grasp what they've done
Both of them kneel and gather the pieces, feeling their rage fade away
After all, they think, when it comes down to it, it's just a game they play
The rooks stand crooked and the knight's lost a leg, but the pieces are all there
They know that the game won't be the same but still they return to their chairs
Calm and contended they rebuild the board, prepared to begin anew
Aware of risk but confident they are ready for what will ensue
The checkered field between them holds the warriors tight
He commands the black ones, She commands the white
They still sit silently thinking, though the mood is much improved
Until he leans in and says aloud "I believe that it's your move."