Page 47 - NS 2024

The Boxer
Keller McGowan
I find myself within a cage, watching
the watchers watch me back. No one
is watching my back, though, as the
bell rings once more and my opponent
lurches forth and drunken, sloppy blows
land light; this hardly seems the fight
the people paid to see. What a boxer
they’ve made of me—I can’t dodge
or block or jab, so when my chin
is finally tapped, I fail to arise at
sunrise as the count winds down. My
bad, I know the fault belongs far from
you, for spelling out the portions in this never-ending commotion would not
help me do my motion with the same
joyous notion I see forced on all those
faces jeering loudly; when had we begun
this rally? I ponder here and there while
I act upon the dare I accepted in the
darkness back when unawareness was
my conscious and morals mattered not
in the face of toils facing tots. Chuckling
with glee are the other sides of me, all
together they seem happy as my face
gets mashed to putty. Sputter quiet now,
still must take a final bow; watch the victor draped in splendor before I too finally do prosper—though this profit may be forfeit
to those louder than the quiet. They relish
their pride far from enough to cry quietly
while flying through a mind longing to
find the top of a mountain—marred with
the wrappers of the dreams together squandered.
The Boxer