Car Chess

by Fred Aiken

sitting out in the car in the hot summer

waiting for my lunch to end,

eating grapes while I play chess on my phone

against someone else in some Eastern European country

waiting for a blunder on either side

so I can resign

open the door,

and remove my sweaty body from its sauna

so that I can go into the office

where there’s air conditioning,

people,

work,

rinse,

repeat,

recycled cells moving more than sixty-two squares

from one move to the next,

as I, the pawn,

flesh out what every other piece that I don’t recognize

is trying to do around me,

already contemplating going back to my car

to live in

and play more chess