End Game

The streets of Old Gotham
Meander like an elderly ambassador,
Avenues laid down when hoof and wagon
Were still the City's sole conveyance.
But since the advent of the combustion engine
(yes I know my history),The systole and diastole
of the City's heart is now the center of commerce;
Its uniform grid such lovely little squares,
So perfect....so populated.

Shall we play?

Black pawn to b6. Your move.
White knight to c3. Interesting.
Did you know that the Moors
Invented this game? Did you know
That Crowley could play two
Just in his mind, and beat both opponents.

I'm gaining on you.
Black bishop to b4; oh pity, I took your rook.
Have you read De Profundis? I did.
Wilde said each man kills the thing he loves.
Black queen to e4; check.

It takes more than skill to win, my friend;
It takes a certain will of the mind
Which I have in spades. And in your hand
Is a pair of deuces, going nowhere;
But that is a different sort of game.

Who is the dark knight who shall nab
Your precious queen? Who is the one who will
Castle you to oblivion? You know his name,
And you know his game, and the end game is mine
So checkmate.

And beneath the killing joke of the grinning moon
Rising above the rotting streets of Gotham
The White Queen runs like the ooze of refuse
Straight to me, to me.

He who laughs last, laughs loudest.