The Fighter

05/24/10

1:26 pm

Bay Ridge

 The Fighter

Come out! He said.

His fists overpowering his brawny arms,

Resembling entwined twigs ready to withstand a prodigious twister.

The entrance was shut, dull, as the wood was mugged.

Clenched fists were thrown incessantly like mad hailstones.

Pounding, conquering.

If there was music, there was only disharmony

For the rhythm was inappropriately dreadful. 

He was anxious for what may arise,

But his anger threw down the gauntlet.

And as he waged war with the entryway,

A duel wasn’t imposed.

There was no uproar to strike back.

Instead, silence was given in return.

The reticence of the closed entrance seemed to triumph over his fury

Like the smell of incense on sacred grounds.

And as he rested his now fatigued and bloodied hands

He walked away surrendering,

Overcame with irony,

As if punches weren’t thrown.