War Story (Poetry)

My uniform’s immaculate — I favour scarlet silk,
The battlefield’s a kingsize, posture-sprung,
I’ve oiled and checked my weaponry, my standby button’s on,
my booby traps are primed and set among

musk-scented hills and valleys where hot-blooded passions boil,
my strategy’s traditional, well-tried,
the challenge irresistible, the verbal gauntlet flung,
and rules demand the taunt can’t be denied.

My after-dinner-ambush-plan’ll catch him unawares —
he’ll never know what hit him ’til he lies
utterly defenceless with his troops in disarray,
a prisoner between triumphant thighs.

No doubt later he will boast a bit to buddies down the pub
how his macho charms blew wide my castle door —
he’ll retell our passing history and turn the tale around
so truth ends up a casualty of war.

The official version brazenly embroidered for effect —
another slice of fiction for the file,
meanwhile Don Juan is waiting so excuse me while I fix
my war-paint in an enigmatic smile.