the last time we fight here

you would have to watch your step

walking from one end of the room

to the other;

there are broken shards of glass

from the doorway of the dining room

to the staircase;

when I tipped over the lamp

and when you threw your scotch glass

and it shattered on the wall

when you missed.

 

I shouldn’t have called you a cunt.

But you deserved it.

 

I don’t even remember

how the aquarium broke.

 

We never even bothered

to make chalk mark figures on the wooden floors

where each fish had gasped its last breath.

Fourteen casualties of this bloody war;

I think they were the lucky ones.

 

The neighbours, who I know are keeping score,

will prove that I won this fight.

I won most of the arguments

and called you the most names

and you threw the scotch glass first.

You lost your cool.

I lost my living room set.

 

Maybe, now, we’re even.

 

But I know you’ll be back

for round forty-eight,

if I were counting,

because you left your favourite scarf

on the lazy boy,

and I know you didn’t forget it

because you grabbed it

and mimed hanging yourself

to warn me of the trouble I’ll be in

if I continue on about your indiscretions.

 

Did you think I wouldn’t know?

How stupid do you think I am?

 

Well, stupid enough to know,

you will be back, like you planned;

and not to send the scarf to you

as to give you reason to come back

and have another go.

 

Round forty-nine will begin pretty soon.

The neighbours are already making popcorn.

We should be selling tickets.

I’d hate to disappoint them.

 

But this is the last time we are fighting here.

Aquariums are expensive, you know?

And you aren’t that good in bed.

 

 

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