We Pawns

I bumped into the name of an old college friend of mine today. I was getting the School of Journalism newsletter onto the web, and there it was. Sheila. But is it really her? The woman's picture is only a little like the girl I remember. There was an email address. I wanted to contact her, to say, is it you? Are you the Sheila that went to Steamboat Springs with Daisy Trench? Do you remember the pics we took of each other by the auditorium?

I felt silly doing that, so I did something even sillier. I sent her a poem that she wrote long ago, and I asked: Sheila, is this your poem? If she recognizes it, that will prove it's her without me having to ask all these personal questions.

The poem is called 'We Pawns." She wrote it when someone broke her heart. She would never tell me who it was.

We Pawns
So what gives you the right?
Am I such a burden now?
To you, I guess I was just a bug on a pin.
A specimen for all your friends to examine
And exclaim "ooh" and "ah"
While looking at you enviously.

What gives you the right
To toy with my feelings, you fool?
Do you know, I really loved you?
I doubt you care -- not even
In the deepest corner of your heart.

Heart? Heart? Do you have a heart?
Or is it just a piece of data processing?
A little microfiche stamped "heart."
A miniaturized computer with tabs
That say "motives" and "drives."

You will never know how happy I was with you.
Did you ever guess that one night
I actually pinched my knee
Because I couldn't believe that it was you
Sitting across the table from me!

And that's not like me, either;
Usually, emotions are broken down
Into little components with "reason" and "judgment"
Imprinted on them.

But for this once, I decided
To dispense with the analysis of emotions.
Just experience them, maybe it will be better.
After all, emotions are not concrete.

For this, I was dealt a blow.
No return, only your greed.
Blind at the time, I fulfilled your need.
I guess I was just a pawn.

Well, we pawns have feelings too.
And believe me, it won't happen again.
Thanks for the scar on my heart
Which will prevent me from ever
Experiencing love as with you.

You took what you wanted and left me in the street to die;
And I did die, a thousand times,
As a friend joked that maybe
You'd given my bracelet to another girl.
That hurt! So bad, like a knife
Reopening a wound. My bracelet;
Why couldn't you have given it back, only two blocks away?
It won't fit you. It's made for a tiny wrist -- like mine.