they're like a pack of dogs fighting over a bone.
I might have compared them to pigs,
but pigs are grateful for table scraps and not fond of human remains.
maybe they more closely resemble the toothless trainers of the dogs
because he isn't the one who does the fighting;
he only sneers at the slashes and scars his combatants have received
and maybe comes up with a new plan.
the harder I think about it, the worse I feel for the dogs and horses.
the harder I think about it, the more they strike me
as the mangy, well-dressed owners of two packs of dogs in suits and ties
fighting over nothing at all, and both losing,
but winning just that:  nothing.