Duel

Duel

Back in the day when there was beef life this
It was a question of honor
Do you bite your thumb at me sir?
I do not bite my thumb at you sir but I do
Bite my thumb
When Keats learned about the hoax by which
His brother Tom sick with tuberculosis
Was tricked into believing he was receiving
Letters from a woman who loved him
He vowed to kill whoever was responsible
And on his gravestone bemoaned
The malicious power of his enemies
Whose names no one remembers now
When our transgressions are so obscured
By faceless intermediaries we can blame
And so plausibly deny we had anything to do
With the harm caused to the aggrieved party
Forgive me for longing for the age
When we would have arrived separately
At the appointed field at dawn
Of a day we both would have known
One or both of us wouldn’t live to see the death of 
Bleeding out in the flagrant colors of dusk
Having kissed our sleeping beloveds
Having broken the weak chains of their encircling arms
Having quietly selected our seconds from
Amongst willing friends
Who would have come out from town to watch
Us either triumph or die
Dawn was the hour of duels
The moon in the west the sun in the east
The birds singing their pretty little heads off
In trees who turned their faces of leaves 
Towards the rise where men just like us had died
The sun weaving the dew into mist
That lay thick as gauze upon the low places
And with solemnity befitting the occasion 
Lifted the pistols out of their velvet cradles
And took turns loading them
Letting everyone who wished to
Hold the slugs
And when all were satisfied stood back to back
Clenching the curved walnut grips 
In our white-gloved hands
And with our backs pressed together
Felt a faint respect for one another
Approaching something like that which we feel
For those things we know are strong enough to kill us
Before beginning slowly to walk away
From one another only to turn around
Abruptly as if the other suddenly
Called our name