MARTIAL IN DUBLIN

I'm not mannerly enough

in our arguments

say my opponents

vanquished by my searing wit,

my truth. There's got be a

nicer way for me to triumph,

some way for them to flop less publicly -

not take such an obvious hit.

I'm too ferocious, just too uncouth,

too savagely indignant.

I need to chill, to cool my jets, though

I'm right of course, of course, they all admit.

Hadn't they themselves, silently,

been in agreement from outset?

Sure, the row hadn't anything to do with them…really.

It was the others put them up to it.

So I should tickle them into submission,

kiss and cuddle them into oblivion,

not get the blowtorch out,

not stretch them on a rack,

as one by one, they call me up to butter me

throw a loser's dig about my lack of courtesy

and stick a knife

in the last caller's back.