If I can pick myself <br />up off the floor <br />this time <br /> <br />I'll be surprised. <br /> <br />If I can find another <br />reason to drag <br />my carcuss off the canvass <br /> <br />maybe I'll finish the round. <br /> <br />Spent most of this one <br />on the ropes, <br />bobbing, weaving, <br />leaning back at an angle <br />that Ali himself would've <br />been proud of. <br /> <br />Each blow <br />wearing me out <br />as much as it did <br />them. <br /> <br />Each pounding <br />on my ribs <br />defended with <br />a rabid intensity. <br /> <br />And I can hear <br />the voice inside <br />urging me: <br /> <br />'Just make it too <br />the end of the round <br />kiddo........... <br /> <br />Just too the end of the round' <br /> <br />Perhaps I could make it. <br /> <br />One small victory <br />for the singular self. <br /> <br />The right-hook that <br />blindsided me was, <br />too say the lest, <br />unexpected. <br /> <br />As I stood at the bar <br />watching her play goo-goo eyes <br />with some town dressed schmuck <br />I could feel the blood run down my face <br />and hear the ref count <br />to 10. <br /> <br />T.K.O.<br /><br />Neil Gray<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/fighter/
