You stir it one way, and they the other,
  but the mixture stays just as hot

You attack their motives, and they attack yours,
  while the contents boil and rot

“It needs to be this way”… the other side revolts,
  “Your mind’s faulty with avarice and greed”

The *** has simmered; the broth is thick,
  and its bottom not easy to see

A mutual exclusion, first left and then right
  a feast—all soul’s consumed

With spoon or fork, its offering slick,
  when the bowls come out at noon

In single file, day turns into night,
  pointed talk with nothing said

Both cupboard’s bare, two rat’s within,
  guarding their last crust of bread

When the final story is written and told,
   of what in concert you destroyed

A drum will beat, zero-sum complete,
  leaving you soulless—but still conjoined

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June,2016)