Bobby Fischer played blitz matches
on Yahoo chess
until the Japanese caught him running.
So I was told one morning
out on the deck,
with a newspaper in one hand and an eye on the sun
coming up over the trees.
I hadn't known he was running;
but standing with my hand on the railing,
I saw Bobby in a small cell with both hands in his lap
and a scowl. Bobby Fischer scowled in my dreams.
Was his nemesis aware?
Sitting behind a curtain and alone,
with a glass and a cigarette, and a view of the Urals outside.
Did he know?
And I heard Bobby mutter
All I want to do, ever, is...
Yeah, Bobby. Yeah.