My Perfect Enemy

The enemies I've made in my short life
Are all called Ugo, and we meet at dawn
To strut and posture, heckle, spit and pout.
The hour's a good one for the play of swords.

The first time that I met him, he rose up
One melting dawn beside the garden path.
A foppish man, full-stomached, with a sword,
I soon despatched him. How his servant laughed!

I asked that turncoat: what was his design
To be about so early in the day?
Was he a thief? Or was it something worse?
He is your perfect enemy, he said.

That left me speechless, so I let him go.
But since that dawn, he will not be denied.
We strut and posture, heckle, spit and shout.
...