Old friends Abner and Jeremy walk to the park
with a borrowed chess set.
Upon arrival they open the small chest of pieces
and discover them shattered —
shards of black and white in a jumble.
No matter, says Jeremy, we will repair them
with glue and then begin our game.
Abner suggests that they have before them
a unique opportunity —
they can rebuild the tiny warriors
to new specifications, reassemble them
while changing their shapes.
That’s silly, Jeremy responds.
If they are reshaped,
we will be forever confused
as to how the new pieces correspond
to the old ones, and our play
will be disrupted with dispute,
pondering, and dissatisfaction.
Better to make them as they have always been,
according to the venerable traditions of the game.
Old fart, stick in the mud, says Abner.
Here we have a possible new world,
and you desire the continuation
of the ancient regime.
Back, forth, argument, counter, parry, thrust —
and eventually, a settlement: they will rebuild
one side to standard form, the other will be
refashioned, and the player of the new men
will be trusted to tell the truth and remain consistent
as to what each represents in this unaccustomed game.
Did you bring glue, they ask at the same time.
Neither has brought glue. Who could have known
it would be needed?
They will have to go home and do this overnight
and return tomorrow to play.
This is more trouble than it’s worth, says Jeremy.
Agreed, says Abner. Let us instead blame
the son of a bitch
who gave us this abomination to deal with,
and find another set to borrow
from a more trustworthy source.
Yes, we will do that, they agree,
and arm in arm and armed with righteous anger
they march off with the ruined game in hand
to find something that will let them play as they are used to,
comfortable that they have done what they can,
and to confront someone to hurt for the inconvenience
they’ve suffered.
Dark Matter 