Fall 2010

Volume 5, Issue 2



My boxer - my love


This man I once loved woke swinging
into the air with a silver skin of  sweat
coating his body.  He’d reach for the
half-full glasses of water on the window
ledge filling with moonlight and  gulp
them down until he stopped glowing.
Awake he was agile, lean, and looked
like he could punch above his weight
class - language I’d heard friends use
as they watched him dance and swat
at the heavy-bag hung over the
basement’s main beam, the chain digging
a polished groove into the dark pine rafter.
The basement of his house was a hallowed
bone, water-cracked cement walls had
crumbled and stood pocked and spider-
webbed - flakes from the rafters rained
on him as his arms struck out between
the golden flutter of dust - shattering
the air where it grew thick enough
to slow his hidden furies.






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© 2010 Americana: The Institute for the Study of American Popular Culture