Fast Feud

glazed with snowflakes,
the glass window offered
obscured gold into his room
leaving him shrouded in gloom

poor Ronald
strapped to his teak dresser
shivering a cold sweat brooding over
—what would make a meal happy?

a classic dash of red,
or a pompous serving of fuchsia?
he grimaced in the dark
juggling both options with his pride

pouting his lips, he took a swing
left to right, right to left
battered and bruised,
satisfied as a well fed moose

Red, he confirmed
—dripping red.