He ducked straight into the punch
His eye socket badly damaged
His brain smashed into his skull
His nose flattened against his face
He’s on all fours on the canvas
Blood dripping down his face
The referee is starting the count
He’s up at eight, delaying his fate
Outboxed and outpunched, things not going his way
If knocked down, there he’s likely to stay
He is boxing like a puppet on a string
Desperately waiting for that final bell to ring
Another blow to the head
Leaves him flat on his back
Gets to his feet, not looking too well
He then hears the sweet sound of the bell
He falls from his stool inside the ring
Lands on the canvas, he’s not seeing a thing
His pulse is taken, the news is not good
Got the ambulance as quick as they could
He’s damaged like a window in a storm
Cracked into fissures of some alien form
He wanders around, with nowhere to go
Will he recover, they don’t think so
Poet's Corner 
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