The Boxing Match

The Boxing Match


And the boxer, well she cried out in her

frustration and her thwarting, I am leaving, I am leaving,

but the suitor still remains, retreating to her corner, bell

sounds and she is dreaming, weeping lava molten lava,

her words drowning her, I will not forget it.


The morning brings solace, for the world still turns,

and the car still runs, and “if I want to go, then

I shall go,” but she stays, and stays, and lies on.

And the boxer slumbers in a placid dream of freedom,

only to be awakened by a new match.


There’s always more booze, more incitement, more riot,

With fisticuffs, gloves taken off, bloodied pulp of a heart,

And no trainers advising an uppercut or left punch, a one-two

Knockout and opponent drops! And she can’t possibly know how

The freedom dreams will haunt her forever, and forever.

(“The Boxing Match.” Flood Stage: A St. Louis Anthology of Poets 2010, Page 218. Editor Matt Freeman. Walrus Publishing: St. Louis.)


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