Counterplay

Free Verse

By Begüm Arıcı via Pexels

A coffeehouse lies between the crosswalk signs on First.
Should you fancy a parley, there is no bake shop finer
than that quaint café. That boulangerie. That bread box
with a table.

I concede. Your laughter nips the invite,
en passant. There is no feint in flake and butter,
but a thousand trading hands snap up receipts.
Legs and wheels patter.
Passersby have picked and supped,
rung up their omens at the till.

All of these frontier lines, broken;
and yet, I am here.

There is no stalemate
like yours. I have lost bishops
to hungry whims, fed queens to steadfast pawns.
If you had come,

I would’ve known your mementoes.
Nurture bait. Chew your angles.
Always keep a crisis
wound like a length of floss, tight enough
to press new fates into your palms,

and I adjusted. Analyzed the couple
by the door, how she stoppers her argument
with her thumb pinned to her lips, her…