Best Served With: Moon River (Original) by Audrey Hepburn
In the open coliseum,
The gladiator smacks the sweat off his brow,
So it strikes his challenger:
And as it slaps her violet breastplate,
Her iron armor begins to tremble,
The rippling air threatening to cut it.
It dribbles down her brazen shoulders,
Dodging the rusted kiss of her blade along the way,
Until it reaches her rugged fingertips.
Trekking down her middle finger
It leans over the edge
about to drop—
And there sat the challenger’s head.
Smiling in a sea of brown.