Not Check, Mate

Don’t tell me I can’t move my bishop,
It’s perfectly clear that I can.
With a flick of my hand,
I just pick him up and
Put him safely down next to the fan.

Don’t tell me my truculent horsey
Is cruelly exposed on the flanks.
With a masterful neigh,
He is up and away
And has gobbled up several pawns. Thanks.

Don’t tell me my beautiful queenie
Is caught in your devious trap.
She’s hopped o’er your pawn
And has left him forlorn,
And your bishop is all in a flap.

Don’t tell me my king is surrounded
And threatened by everyone.
For he is not fated
To end up checkmated.
With a hop and a skip he is gone.