THIS ONE; THAT ONE

THIS ONE; THAT ONE

this one
a chess prodigy
playing a killer
opening
he devised himself
against the world champion

their hands a blur
as they smash time itself
on the regulation clock

a whole game done
and dusted before
you can
take a breath

and even
             in blitz
not a second-rate move
never mind
a blunder

that one
lives time differently
hopes for monotony,
exists as pure
duration

way down
the silo
     behind titanic
blast door

waiting for the launch codes
hoping they
will never come

knows
they are bound to come