i. gambit
the rags still half-soaked with turpentine and resignation
petal the floor beside an antique dresser or
perhaps contentious puddle of cooking oil slowly dripping
down from the white stove
your cat interrupting a candle
the cigarette that slept in my mouth
the handfuls of scrubby wires left humming in the walls
ii. battery
ash on the floor in a halo of char and shreds of tobacco crunched under bare feet
(we run from red in the walls, grab the photo albums or your cat)
flame eats the pile of newspapers that had bundled our dishes and
floral wallpaper weeping with age
we waltz with its powdered wig of smoke
as one vinyl record pours blackly to the floor
the fire is white bright and gilt rococo swirls
iii. poisoned pawn
the heat and its black venom cloud reach our aquarium
milky belly of the last little neon protruding
in a languid bob from warm water
and an angry, strangled sound from the cat
bewildered by all of the death, things burst they shiver and snap,
I reach for my jacket, slow fumble with shoelaces and
choose instead the hasty exit, hand to door
dusty carpets and dry wood sacrificed to a rush of oxygen
this beast pulls itself from the air
seizing my blunder
iv. luft
if not the hall, then what?
tie the sheets together
a desperate flailing trapeze act from
the fourth storey window or else
the closet
yes
breathless relish in the small protected square
v. checkmate
sententious fire waves its truth at my eyes and ears
speaks sparsely, with pop and crack
hiss and flicker
pointed licks of flame
sweep through rank and file until
it finds me at D8 and captures the door
so red has won
but where are you
the queen
and where is the cat
