etre in the Morning is a series dedicated to poetry and the written word.

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BOXING by Aidan McNally

One never really does get used to it
That fear would hurt the heart of a tiger
Although for years I've been a pugilist.
Always afraid am I as a fighter.

But despite all my fear I still show up.
And I still rap up each one of my hands.
Then jump rope until I want to throw up.
So that I may say the fighter still stands.

I don't care what happens I will not cease.
Even if I vomit or if I gag.
And if I die then let me rest in peace.
Knowing I gave hell to that heavy bag.

Exhaustion sets in with each of my lopes
And I still put the gloves on both my hands.
My heart thumps as I step between the ropes
So that I may say the fighter still stands.

My stomach's taut as I enter the ring.
Slowly the stress begins to take its toll.
Like the reaper's knock I hear the bell ding
All I have left to fight with is my soul.

Let him throw combos and let them all land.  
I will still throw punches with both my hands.
I'll throw jabs and crosses til I can't stand.
So that I may say the fighter still stands.