Poem of the Week: The Chess Player by Howard Altmann | Poetry
The chess player
They left. They are all gone.
The pigeon feeders are gone.
The old men on the benches are gone.
The ladies in the white gloves with the Great Danes are gone.
The lovers who thought they were coming are gone.
The man in the three-piece suit is gone.
The man who was a trio is gone.
The man on the milk crate with the bible is gone.
Even the birds are gone.
Now the trees are also thinking of leaving.
And the grass tries to turn around.
Of course the buses no longer pass.
And the children do not ask any more.
The air wants to leave and is in discussions.
The clouds are trying to clear.
Heaven holds out its hands to him.
Even the moon sees what’s going on.
But the stars remain in the dark.
Just like the chess player.
Who sits with all his pieces