My enemy is my only friend, a chess game played on Sunday.
Mates having breakfast at Tom’s Diner, wondering whose picking up the check.
What happens when I start thinking; I end up going the wrong way.
I think he knows my next move; we stroll down State Street. ~excerpt from poem
The Tuxedo Archives: Vol. 2011
, Article 1.
Available at: http://scholar.dominican.edu/tuxedolit/vol2011/iss1/1