Her glove whacks my head.
The force of the firm fist penetrates
Through headgear to brain,
Like a sharp needle through thin fabric.
Thoughts spin, vision whirls,
My mind is a view of Inferno.
Point taken from her,
Lost point in exchange for concussion.
That spinning back fist
Strikes, saying, you’re finished, you are done.
Skull still spirals, but
I return like Summer after Spring.
Now comes the headaches.
A strange, strenuous month awaits me,
But there is a light,
Bouncing off bronze hanging on my wall.
Struck like a freight train,
I stumble, she’s smiling. Worth it?
But whose hand was raised?
Raise the hand of the one who obeys.