He lifted his arms,
"Mate soon!," he said
As he locked his fingers
Behind his head.
He considered the move
He was soon to make
That would end the struggle.
This victory he'd take.
He arched his back,
Took a satisfied breath,
Then looked at me
Like the spectre of death.
An impish smile
Stretched across his face,
And his eyes rolled back
In a pleased grimace.
"My rook goes here
And takes your queen,
Then my knight jumps to
Where your bishop has been."
I studied the board.
He was quite correct.
His analysis clear.
His calculations checked.
I searched my brain
For the right finesse
A subtle move that would
Display my best.
Then my opponent spoke
My time!Oh my time!!
I pointed to his clock,
"You're out of time."