The little boxer steps into the ring
Unsteady, like a
terrible earthquake
His legs wobble, still ripe from
The womb of childhood
They don’t know how to support
The body that must endure
His arms are the twigs
Of a brittle tree
His hands are hidden beneath
Gloves, big as human heads
They don’t know how to guard
The face that must endure
The ring is large and wide
Like the dimensions of an ocean
White and marble-cold
Like a medical office
Unstructured and unbound
He steps in with calloused confidence
And sweaty fingers
that slip
Like macaronis
His wavering feet
Drag his ninety five pounds
Like a giant hearse
He walks
With a strained balance
Like a trapeze swinger on a cord
Keep your composure, young boxer
Your future is suspended
By a string of dental floss
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