A Chess Club Poem by John Thorkild Ellison

Just look at those players!
They sit and they squirm on hard, wooden chairs,
Engrossed in the secrets of sixty-four squares,
Shuffling and groaning and pulling their hairs
Till suddenly one of them loudly declares
'Checkmate! ' to his rival, and everyone stares! !

The loser stands up with a grimace of hate
(He's never been good at accepting his fate)
'You were lucky! ' he snarls, 'but don't underrate
Me! I'll beat you tomorrow, just you wait,
When the chess-club opens, don't be late,
We'll see who's the master, I'LL CRUSH YOU, mate! ! '