at the night’s end

when friends

force you to recall

a person you were before

you stumble and fall

on a tastefully forged

double-edged sword

an undesired reunion occurs

where memories blur and

you calibrate reality

a few dignities are saved but

from collar to point

the hurt you display?

the retreat

of the blade

it’s a mortal regression

down misery lane

pierced and beset

by physical pain and

how cunning and awkward

so sincere and benign are

the peacekeeping forces

of laughter and wine

in the eleventh hour

you’ll assume the position

of imprisoned volition

rediscovering friends

and you’ll say to your wife

how nice, how nice

how nice we’ve become

turning your back

on immutable fact that

warrior and weapon are one