Poem: Old Men Playing Draughts

By: Neil Leadbeater


Black plays first.

They want to wipe each other out
or lock their opponent into a position
from which they cannot move.

The old still harbour ambition –

if they could just acquire
the agility of youth
they could leapfrog over counters

but by repeatedly moving their pieces
one square at a time

they get by…

“even the snail, it has to be said,
finally reached the Ark.”


Categories: Poetry

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