A game of chess

For them it’s like a game of chess;

Two blokes try their bloody best

To win the squares of Britain’s board,

Under which our hope is stored.

–

But behind each silent, stoic pawn 

Is hungry nurse or child born

In poverty, used in games,

Played to the hum of distant pain.

–

Though some may play with heart on sleeve,

Riding like knight or cavalry,

The ever cunning tablemate 

Trots round the board with no mistake.

–

As when you’re watching from afar,

And you’re not the piece with which they charge,

You tend to have a clearer view 

Of how the rules might bend for you.

–

‘Our guy won! Your guy lost!’ 

‘Our Bobby Fischer sees Boris off!’*

They can shake hands, their wounds are healed

While others sweep their battlefield.

–

So sure, this is a game of chess;

We cheer for those that we like best.

But remember those in ‘cheaper’ seats

Are crushed by passing kings and queens.

–

*a reference to Boris Spassky, a Russian chess grandmaster who lost to American Bobby Fischer in 1972