The match flares
Gutters
And with a wrist-snap-flick
Is cast
Aside
With the first lungful
I watch him wheel
And stride back
The precision of his gait
The breeze
This bead of sweat
Meandering
Down my forehead
Suddenly much
Brighter
Clearer
Another drag
And I recall
My village
The bones amongst the ashes
The rage
In the corner of my eye
He raises his sword
A last hit
And I spit the cigarette out
I’m glad
I refused the blindfold
Looking
At the one opposite
The way his barrel shakes
I know
He’s more scared
Than me
I laugh
And the sword falls
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