The Night Mayweather Took It

by Angela Kubinec


Rounding the corner, I saw

school zone warning lights sending confused

flashes out at one a.m.

Cayetano, on the second undercard, didn't win

they blinked

what I had felt as I watched

him lose was a mixture of boredom and dread

his head being pounded

ten rounds

he never wavered or threw much of a punch, either

my lover scolded me for not recognizing


in a boxer

you take your licks until you

win, drop or die

even if you know you are losing

I watch boxing from a shallow

visceral viewpoint

all the stuff mothers are supposed to hate

sound of spit in the bucket

cutman pinching blood

rains of sweat

bags of ice in the corner, waiting

the pounding on the ropes


anyway, I wanted to say to him, I understand

poorly timed signals, the resentment of being measured

and the grief of losing

some song about beauty and wanting what you've not got

graced the radio

his scarred knuckles were shiny under the rhythmic amber glow

hand loose on the wheel