L'oeuf

Something silly. The prompt was to write a "love" or anti-love poem. I'm still not sure on which side this one falls.

L'oeuf

We watched the struggle,
we did,
we did,
from our silent vantage point
on that seated hill.

To date there has never,
 no never,
not ever,
been a struggle so clearly mistook.

They chose sides, they did,
like we knew they would,
like we knew they would.
Perhaps that was their first mistake,
for no true relationship can be built
on unspoken rivalry.

Perhaps, they'd be better friends than enemies,
for sure,
for sure,
but part of me thinks that
would be a terrible lie.

Thus it begins.
He starts.
Insults lobbed,
degradations volleyed,
occasionally, he would get caught in
her net.
Eventually, the baseline is just a memory.
Then, after the tete a tete,
and they are bruised and sore,
so very sore,
15 - 0.
Fifteen - love.

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