Champion of apartment 32C
He was only seventeen
Muscles on the close edge of skin
Stretched glistening, poised to burst
With energy pounding beat bouncing
The canvas on new sneakered tip toes
He was only seventeen
Face chisel carved smooth
As he turned circling for a single
White smile at the crowd glow
Rising like a cloud of steam
Applauding his first draw
He was only seventeen
As the first fisted punch
Split his puffed pouty baby lip
brushed just this afternoon
By his gray lipped limp mother
In the thin drawstring gown
I am only seventeen
He thought, words of
Release hanging in air
As a quiet distant roar
raced through the tide of his ears
and a thunderstorm of fists
banged glistened flesh
into tomorrow's solid bruise
And he with a wave of surrendered
Victory folded, with boneless
Defenseless crumple, too deflated to
even crouch, as curtained darkness
Descended with the promised
Purse
He is only seventeen, his sister
Screamed, but did not pierce
The ether-sweet still silence
Of his once again bouncing
On tip toes - new sneakered
Smile
Smile
