A Cordial Exchange

Kayla Mullen'24

 

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.