I stare across the battlefield,
the graveyard for my troops,
at my rival,
my father,
nodding at every move I make
as if our skirmish
is a game to him,
that I am the apprentice
and he, the master.
For me, it is life or death.
I ride valiantly in L shapes,
skip diagonally over enemies
striking them down,
my foe smiles
and nods approvingly.
He makes his moves,
taking down my men,
a battle-hardened commander
in his prime,
soldiers falling like autumn leaves.
The final few left
for one last manoeuvre.
I take his moves
and use them against him,
charging forward,
I go for the throat.
Our soldiers collide,
a skirmish for the gods,
rooks taking bishops,
and against all odds…
His knight moves away,
the king is mine!
I turn to my men
and give them the sign,
they get in formation
with a flick of my wrist,
his king has fallen,
an incredible twist.
The fighting is over,
my opponent, undone,
he holds out his hand.
“Well-deserved, my son”.
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