swords or pistols

i ask
my lover's former lover
to a duel.
he's annoyingly still around.
swords or pistols
at thirty paces,
i ask
him as he wipes the drool
off his
slack jaw
after slapping him with
one of my
long leather gloves.
he shrugs and says,
why'd you hit me.
why not, i tell him.
you dog.
go home to your wife
and leave mine
alone.
swine.
there's no fight in him.
or me either
for that matter.
thankfully he goes
on his way, at least for
the moment,
as do i.
why didn't i think of
this before.