poem, poetry, chess, James Bond

SMOTHERED

smothered mate
Mr Bond

love of
Queen (now King)
and country
has
squashed you
into a corner

no man supposedly
an island but
you appear
to be a
tiny one

deluded by the believed
magnificence
of your
self-
importance

and now
to put it bluntly
you are
screwed, have
lost the game

and this
foreign, highbrow, villainous
post-atomic, cyber-
crime,
deformed
asexual, intellectual mutant

gloating at how
you took the Gambit, swallowed
the poisoned pawn

in one wrong move altered
geopolitics
and the nature
of Empire

and you
with your jaw
hewed from granite and
tinker-tailor brain

wondering if like
Admiral Horatio you too
will be
elevated above the laiety
on towering
plinth
or column

as the streets of old-time Motherland clucking
for
her lost
children

all smashed to chicken shit
beg you
to resign next move
before,
    like a guillotine, it befalls,
becomes the
iconic moment captured
for all time
   that now will change
                        everything