The City is a chessboard
 
so I’ll pawn your rook, he said
for the want of a less clichéd innuendo.
he laughed like a horse, however that sounds
and I tripped down a city-style lane.
and as the city is a chessboard, I’ll time your every move,
watching slowly, crossing backwards,
blackwards.
maybe it was his horse-like looks, and horn-rimmed spectacles,
that led us to this crooked street,
the other side of town,
where the city is a chessboard where we cross
paths and squares and blocks,
your vaguely repugnant beauty, makes me want to
mate.


* Bethan Townsend is 21 and plans to stay that way for the rest of her life. She lives in North West England but changes location too frequently to pinpoint a particular home. She is still (unfortunately) a student but doesn’t like to admit this and in an ideal world she’d be based in Ireland writing for a living.