A Verbal War

We pick our words like swords.
We deposit grenades of angry verbs,
Hiding ourselves behind sandbags
Of excuses and doubt.
We sharpen our knives and tongues
With sharper accusations, demanding
Answers made of 26 little letters
Formed in the right placating way.

We choose our words like guns.
We shoot and cut and wound,
And for what? A small victory.
The Battles of I Saw You Looking
At Her and Last Night's Dinner are
Held firmly in my court.
I stab jealousy,
And spit venom with prepositions,
Until we both give in,
And surrender behind the forts of
Our syntax and lies.