Below the Keys

I position. I'm ready.
What's ready to pour out of me today?
I re-position.

Or be yanked, pulled, coerced, beckoned, or bribed to the surface?
Looking down. Square keys.

What's below the Sunday lazy morning pajama layer, or as it constitutes, my husband's boxers checkered like a black and white board and more comfortable than any Pajama Gram could buy.
Valentine's Day is tomorrow.

Four to a Kohl's pack. You can't beat it.
I can't get below the mind numb surface
Below the computer fingers and the
Superbly conscious composed
Word by unnecessary word.
Looking about me.

I drone on and on waiting impatient
A key pounding dredge of a try.
Get something above from below.
Looking down like prayer.

I keep looking at the checker board,
Wishing I was better at checkers,
Feeling not write-well enough to comment
Much beyond black and white.
One measly thought appears.

Why, I've been thinking of checkers the whole time
When, it's chess that the pattern replicates!
Comparing, a game I am far worse at,
That initial thought is what I might be more,
And that which I am less
Is, further down,
Escaping through the exits.

Covered thinly this morning in
One lazy chess board layer.
Checkmate.
Square keys win.