The Conquistidor Poem by Ronnie Gardner

The stage is set and the dance macabre, the foil flashes and I parry
I focused on the game but in the back of my mind I am like 'Who is Larry? '
The blade evade and strikes and again I am unbalanced
Elegant as Erroyl Flinn and flamboyant as a jeweled Prince, I correct my stance and move again. She is good and maybe a bit better than I am
behind my fencing mask I barely hold my own and gust of wind come out of my diaphram, I feel ridiculous yet beside her no one sees me. Were suppose to be one but she's competing. And then I lose my job......The stage is reset and I soon regret that woman whom I fell love with. She is now a conquistidor unrepentant.