If I hadn’t been under my father’s THUMB
I’d never have known the complexity of CHESS.
It started when we stayed at a hothouse HOTEL –
I was given a dank green drink, like SYRUP.
When I surreptitiously stuck my THUMB
In the stubby smoke-shaded glass of SYRUP
It came out green, my father wondering later at CHESS
At the significance of his green-thumbed son in a gardened HOTEL.
