Over the summer months Christine Roberts (Poole) is delighting and entertaining us with her chess poems. This one takes us on the roller-coaster ride of playing at a chess congress!

Late Friday night, stifling a yawn,
I face my foe, who’s slow to move.
After aeons of time he shifts a pawn
And I counter with bishop along its groove.

Doesn’t he know we’ve an early start,
Round two begins tomorrow morn’.
P’raps, already losing heart,
his weak position will quickly dawn.

Day two arrives (I’ve gained a win),
I move up tables and now we claw
our shaking hands, then we begin.
This one’s quicker but result’s a draw.

Afternoon session is under way,
opponent so canny, giving thought
to every move, each trap to lay,
but he misses out, gains just a nought.

The Sunday battle now ensues;
I grasp a lucky victory.
A prize ahead, I then enthuse:
in mind I almost picture me

receiving cash, deserve-ed purse
only last round to seal the feat.
But, yes, you’ve guessed, I came off worse,
I didn’t win, ever in retreat.

So, the moral of the tale is this:
Enjoy the chess, savour the show.
If not the victor, don’t boo and hiss,
Enter again, you never know!

Copyright © Christine Roberts 2021