WAR OF THE WORDS

Written in response to last month’s Poetry Open Mic theme of “Romance”, The Quarrel is a contrarian’s take on the subject. 

I hasten to add that it’s not autobiographical. 

THE QUARREL

We had, perhaps, too much to drink.       

You mentioned some love from the past

and I, in jealousy, replied

too hastily, harsh words were cast

like stones, but little did I think

that moments later, angry-eyed,

we’d escalate from stones to knives

and, with sharp words, would cut and rend,  

trade insults like colliding trains,

each with our corner to defend.

This morning, nothing much survives.

In our bed-sitter what remains

is one spent candle, blackened, dead,

its wax like tears, an upturned chair,

a carpet stained with spilt red wine

and, what now fills me with despair, 

the memory of things we said,

words we can never reassign,

angry, malign, your words and mine.