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.)