FRIDAY TREAT: PUNCH FOR POUND

img_20180309_215001_28631889567.jpgHe sweats and swears

His tears stream in strain,

yes its pain no fear.

He jumps rope and pumps iron

but irony it is;

it is flesh and blood that run and burn.

down the hill he shuffles,

and up the other as he huffs and puffs.

His chest a manifestation of his strained effort

with pumping heart and puffing lungs.

Bolt like-he dashes in short burst

Rudisha like-he sprints the meters and rounds the bends.

His skin burns boiling hot

and sweat pours out down his back down his tight shorts.

A day, a week…

It is a call, a must….

to win the three pound round bout.

 

Amid the loud cheers

some in the carnivorous crowd jeer

wanting nothing but blood, for their money wagered

Men and women, old and young alike

Shout obscenities in unison

As they smoke cigars, wads of old weed

and swig of the booze.

The bass beats of music

Blasting away in reverberations

Intoxicate the atmosphere and set up a devilish mood.

Blood pumps, and testosterone surges through hundred bodies.

Souls of men drown to the maddening smoky-smell shit hole arena

The live broadcasters cough and burp in their endless chatter.

The devil smiles, this is home.

 

Then, they enter

Well build, oiled and charged

Men in their full glory

Like ram ready for an ancient rite.

The two men, upon the settling of the cheers and music

Face each other, murder in their eyes.

A total mismatch: a David vs the Goliath

The crowd cheer and applaud

Baying for balls and blood.

It was a last man standing match

Death or twenty million cash price.

 

The bell rings

and the swing, blows

kicks and punches set in.

The crowd cheers to every blow that lands home with a thundering boom!

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