Poem for a Poem, Tooth for a Tooth

No, none of us will know for sure
Who won on whom, who lost, got whipped—
Well, we might know some who were whipped.

Who won is a quick, blood-wet thing
That slips in the grip. If you win,
You have to try to keep your grip.

Some of us duck. We run and hide—
Hide where we are when we can’t run.
You think you can win? Fine. Go fight.