evanprittsisinyourdoorway

the lone chessman sits in th'corner
far frum th'window whur the sun works its shine
his eyes full a darkness an' i think he's a goner
then i look at th'board, an' his pawns fill their line

his solitaryness tears my heart asunder
so as he moves his piece, i move mine in kind
an' he looks an' he whispers "whatchoo dun hur?"
an' i just smile as he fires up his mind

"this chessboard of wood holds character
i made it m'self in m'dad's old garage
the rough spots, the scratches-- a barrier
to those not familiar to th'mental massage"

lookin' up i smile at 'im gently
t' show 'im i've yet a move t'play
lickin' my lips an' eyen'im intently,
"evan pritts is in yer doorway"