Dark metal, gunmetal grey, ivory handle, rosewood case
a pair of pistols a gift from a wealthy manufacturer
kept locked away in a safe for most of the year
To come out on this most fateful of days.
A cold stark morn. Two fellows meet at dawn.
The one to kill the other to fall, and with it
ambitions of the board.
A black handkerchief, twenty paces and
a shot and a figure crumpled to the ground
gun dropping from his outstretched hand.
Smoke rises from the barrel of the victor
now assured of his place.
Car doors close and powerful engines drive
away the spectators of this fateful day.
The losers left to mourn.
The directorship won.