Eight For Dinner Tonight Poem by ... Caliban

Over the table once again,
I felt the whiff of battle drift,
Exposing nerves and cutting pain,
Sabres slashed, stiletto slipped.

A gladiator contest there,
So different was their weaponry.
The huge and fiercely ripping bear,
The tiny stinging bumble bee.

The men were dead the women raped,
We started on the cheese and port.
With corpses round the table draped,
But obviously not our fault.

The combat really finished then.
The world will not go to the meek,
We said what great fun it had been,
We'd see them all again next week.