Fight –

Fight on, twenty years under my weight of years
Didn’t like the way I’d tested his lack of knowledge
Grappled, fell to the groins, head-locked spin cycle, spitting Latin and new names
Punched his left thigh, but, thick in the legs, thick in the head
It was all misshapen grabble, then free to see his face for the first time, eyes of a boxer’s corner man
My wife put a gun to his left cheek’s dull scar – shot him

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