The Afternoon Coup

Two men, one old, one older,
Sat together, fierce in thoughts,
Yet mutely lashing each n’other.
The one had pinned his mare,
To the very chambers of his stable.
The other slyly skimped perimeter,
Advancing slowly towards the center.
And then, at last, a rash decision,
A luckless, preventable blunder,
And the Monarch was all but crumbled,
Till Gulla, the mutt, pounced on a hare,
and turned the chessboard over.