(20 minute poetry)


Pencil it in
I'll be there on the dot,
Get me a second
and fit me up for the plum shot.

Type me a tissue match and let the duel begin
at ten paces to midnight only one of us will win.

Honour be beggared, but it must be upheld,
It's a tradition,
dubious when the two of us have come to this field and only one will walk away.

And as a gentleman would say,
'you first'
In this case the lead case holding tight to the chamber will explode and propel my opponent through the doorway to an afterlife and I shall reply,
'No sir,
after you sir'