The Endgame is Absurd(ist)

When my generation was born, we were sat in front
Of a chessboard, the Babyboomers on the opposite
On a preplayed game that the Boomers wanted to finish
In the stead of The Greatest Generation.
And boy were they impatient, We didn’t know how to play
We learned quickly though, But realized that it
Was rigged, despite the fact that The boomers assured us
That it was always a fair situation.

My first observation that
They played white,
Got their turn first and
Controlled 99
Percent of the board,
And the only pieces we had
Were a king, a couple of
pawns, and rooks.
“If you feel jealous,
Maybe you should have
Saved your pieces
Across your line,
And played the game as
Well as I,”  They said.
We retorted “however, we have
Bought some books

In preparation for this game,
They tell me you had
Your daddies’ help you
With your moves,
To make sure you had
A chance of winning, then thanked them by
Cutting his social security,
Until of course you needed it
Yourself, then you said thanks
For the head start, now
I need to collect.
My need behooves.
So you took pieces from me
To secure your old
Age, to continue the game
Perhaps to prolong it.”

And here we were, ill equipped,

going through our lives,

made to suck down Ritalin,

when we spoke up, when we challenged the authority

Drugged up and strung out, 

commiting suicide, and other

atrocities while the doctors said 

our activity was a symptom.

imbalance or disease, opinions 

are the proof of infirmity

ailment, not thought.  You called 

our opinions hyper-activity and

through drugs, guilted our parents 

and into buying them, but perhaps we need return to the game.

 

“Taking pieces is part of the game”
said the babyboomers to my peers
Said us, “but you took our best and brightest,
and took them for your own gain.
Look, my knights are dead
because you disallowed to be used,
a few moves from my most powerful
pieces, the most keen
The ones that could speak Arabic,
that were proficient with their weapons.
And you decreed this,
because in your brain
It was better to keep up
with appearances while escalating war.
Personally our generation
doesn’t care if he was a Queen.”

“That was a moral choice”
blurts the boomer smirking slyly
“you want to talk of morality? 
Let us look at your bishops gyrate
Crookedly across this whole board,
covering each other
With relocation, for they never
cross the same path since
The one in the light prevents
the contraception of rape
While the one on the black squares
exercises his ability to participate
in it, by sneaking up on
the smallest of my pawns from behind
And taking them off of the board,
and with it their innocence.

Is it any wonder then,
Why my generation
Has forgotten its religion,
Sacrificed all of its bishops
In favor of protecting ourselves? 
To decide for ourselves
What is right and wrong and
Not listen to a central fallible
Human?”  We asked rhetorically
To this bloated spoiled opponent
Adjusting in his seat,
Sweating like he was doing push-ups,
Speechless. We continue
To question the game we play,
“I have covered war then morality,
What other things are allowable?”

“Look at our castles, 
We can’t move to them,
We can’t seem to live in a home
That’s not a wreck
With my job we can’t get,
The degree that we were given
To insure that I’m not flipping
Burgers, but that insurance was denounced,
So every time I move
In position with my rooks
To endanger your king,
To put it in check,
You throw a tantrum,
And hand hits the table.”
“Well, far be it from me to concede a castle,
 Can’t you see your checks bounce?”

“Well, that’s pretty funny,
But with all of your money
I can see that you’ve pinned in
My king.  Your mansion,
Your castles, to the left and to my right
Of him; even my king is a pawn,
Moving slowly to
Your side of the board,
But none of my pieces
Come back when he reaches the
Other side, and if he did,
Would he be, pinned down.
Oh there goes my pawn,
My rooks, what fun,
Now my King is in stalemate,
Finally peace from this game.
I cannot move now and
Now the game ceases.

“No, the game doesn’t end” 
They said with a giggle
And gave us a sadistic grin
And leaned back. 
They had control of all the toys
In the playroom, including
The ones for the outside,
Surely even by the balls
They had us.
When we tried to tip the king,
To forfeit and occupy, they said
We had nothing to say,
And into our eyes
With a pepper spray attack.
So we have to wait for the
Babyboomer to die, just so we
 

Can pick of the pieces. 
Then the board will be just,

But in the midst of the
Game we were playin’
They set up another
Board for their spoiled children.