Resistor

North and South

Like a grid—

A chessboard,

Or printed circuit

Where I move

Down toward the lake

Or up toward

The Caledon Hills,

Or slide diagonally

To you-know-where…

Our small Victorian village

Near a hundred waterfalls

And blessed

With healthy air.

Everything I want or need

Is here

Except a few

Missing pieces

That have slid

Off the board

Or been taken

By a huge invisible hand…

Still, I keep on playing

Until we draw—

A threefold repetition

So, of course,

We must go back

To our beginning

And start all over again

Intent on winning.

But the truth is

I want to lay down

My king

And go away

Never to see

The board again

And not be vexed

By rules

Of fair play

Where wooden figures

Ply their moves

With calculated rules