training
medicine ball
heavy to the gut
teaches you to breathe
sharp through your teeth
a fist six inches
from your face:
lesson in vulnerability, evasion
skipping keeps you quick,
tall on your toes,
push-ups build
a small ridge of confidence
along your shoulders
old blood
on the canvas mat reminds:
you aren’t,
won’t ever be,
a boxer
4 comments:
cool. i could feel the cadence of the boxer from the very beginning - this one dances for me.
i like the surprising end-thought.
That's funny, P, because I like it until the very end.
For me, the poem builds through the first three stanzas and then stutters in the final one.
I think that's partly the intent of the poem, but there's still something lacking...
I like the small ridge of confidence
I want to know why you aren't won't ever be a boxer though, especially with that ridge of confidence
have you thought about writing a series of lessons from boxing?
Post a Comment