The Sound Of Boxing
Rattle.
The teeth banging together when the teenage boy, who is your partner, hits the large, heavy ball in your hands.
Oof.
The wind knocked out of you as your partner practices body blows on your shield. "I need my kidneys tomorrow," you tell him, but he laughs and carries on.
Gasp.
Two three-minute rounds on mitts. Your first time in the ring.
Ouch.
Throwing a left hook and messing up your left hand.
Whimper.
An involuntary response on the drive home, happening at regular intervals.
Groan.
Turning over in bed later that night.
Yes.
The sound of loving all this.
The teeth banging together when the teenage boy, who is your partner, hits the large, heavy ball in your hands.
Oof.
The wind knocked out of you as your partner practices body blows on your shield. "I need my kidneys tomorrow," you tell him, but he laughs and carries on.
Gasp.
Two three-minute rounds on mitts. Your first time in the ring.
Ouch.
Throwing a left hook and messing up your left hand.
Whimper.
An involuntary response on the drive home, happening at regular intervals.
Groan.
Turning over in bed later that night.
Yes.
The sound of loving all this.
Awesome. This made me smile. The Poet Boxer. The Boxing Poet? Yeah.
ReplyDeleteThere's no other way, right? We box, we write.
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