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."