This was his plan: imitating their dance,
Massaging their myths, storming, by surprise,
Their sand trap of conspiracies and lies;
To step on, by default, the greatest stage
Which life or spite could plausibly advance.
Lost in their bazaar, his slight repertoire
Propelled him to a failure by slow rage,
Though in the end he rallied to make par
And saved what could be traded as his pride.
Holes remained intact, unspoiled by his act,
But no one would come near from either side.
They sipped their drinks; he swore not to react.