Dear Miss Whoever you are

The master of the game

Tea-Bag

Yes I can change my name.

But my year of birth is immutable.

The hospital, the city, inalterable.

And both my mother and father

are writ in the stone of my life,

as they are at the site of their graves.

And, wherever I am, other people,

whether strangers or those known to me,

do as they will, not as I tell them to.

I control my thoughts, my words,

my actions. But only up to a point.

And that point is wherever

others control theirs.

And that is the reason why

we just inadvertently

bumped into each other.

I make no apology

but I do have an explanation.

Sinner or saint,

it doesn’t matter to you.

You entice them to the board.

And then your knight takes rook.

Your queen takes bishop.

You demand too much.

You take from one and all.

You cry “mate!” over and over and over.

They’re left with a box of dead people.

I now understand

the language of the city.

I’ve seen the tea-bag

left in the cup overnight.

It’s like an eye

sad with brown tears.

It bears a string tied

to some paper

with its name on it.