The Fight

The story begins, A simply as fish moves his fin. This is no product I’m trying to spin, just the story of a boy. He had brown hair and was coy, for his missing homework, he always had a ploy. The sun shone bright that September night, as though it was a candle that had received a light. the boy had started a fight. A fight. He couldn’t win, he knew. But fists flew. Tempers blew. Words were lewd. A full on feud. I walked close to the watchers, forming a circle around, the boy I had found. I asked a man close by. Who is in the fight, and why? He looked at me and moved. And in the circle the boy fought, his punches smooth. But he stood alone. Yet he was in the zone. On his forehead sweat shone. But he fought alone. The man began to speak. “You know he isn’t weak, but he’s the underdog, Fighting the world.” Never taking a breath not spent. Never stopping for rest is something that is lent. So he fights. Fights. Fights the tide. Fights the wind. Fights the world. Because he has seen, that if you stop you will curl, and obey the will of the world. The boy dodged and ducked. He was bleeding and running amok. He grabbed a cigarette and gave it a suck, threw it down and found strength. I walked away not knowing. Why the boy wasn’t knowing, His blood showing, His boat never not rowing. But he was fighting a fight, that he couldn’t win. But I realized something on the way, as I watched the blood from his cuts spray, That his spirit would never give in or lay. I turned on my heel. A thought had made me reel. In my heart something began to feel, for this boy. I rushed the crowd and was pushed in. He looked at me and my luck was at an end. The blood roared. The yells soared. But I didn’t hear a single word. His eye was bloodied and his wounds dripping, on his blood in the ring, I was slipping. He raised his fists. My hope began to list, like a ship. Smiling at him, quick, I raised my fists. The fight was on. He swung fast. I swung last. He was light and quick, I slow and powerful. In this fight, there was no lull. No break. I took everything he could make. He took everything I could make. The blood pooled around us like a lake. Neither of us could fake. Or face what lay beyond the ring. Like sonar, We traded pings. Everything I had done wrong, Was punished. By the boy. Everything he had done wrong, Was punished. By me. As the fists flew. As the words spewed. I looked at him, but not seeing. I swung one last time. And down he went. The boy was spent. I stood over him, gasping. That the boy that lay before me, Breath rasping, was me.