Taking Literature a Bit Seriously

On a long dark Russian winter's night,
Two men have settled in
To drink and set the world to rights.
They drink so much that it's a sin.

"Poetry is the only art!"
"No prose is!"
"Poetry!"
"Prose!"
Round and round it goes.

Too many bottles on the floor,
The debate's not friendly any more.
A flash of steel,
A spout of gore;
One ceases to feel,
The other to bore.

As the poet flees through winter's night,
With a heart that's sore,
He reflects that 'twas a cultured fight,
But his best friend is no more.

A true story, from Russia with love. For culture, that is. In Holy Russia, the holes in 

people's hearts aren't always congenital:-)
I told an English friend, and he said they must have previously fallen out over 

something more substantial, like the washing up.
"They're Russian!" I replied.