Kid L Poem by robert dickerson

Next jabs, 'just lefts'. Two
solid minutes of them.
piff, poff, poof-as many
as I can rain on the stolid bag
that gives grudgingly with each blow,
clanking it's chain.
'think technique-'
biff, poff, poff, boof!
until my shoulders ache, my head
swims, my breath hitches, my arm
falls under it's own weight.
'ok, stop'.Sweet word,
is all I have the strength to gasp.

Now the rope. It's handed-
over coils spill at my feet.
'three minutes. Don't
try to get fancy yet', he warns,
and suddenly I am hurled into the
world of the ropecycle-an atom, a
blur of teal, a...a...
Faster and faster the whirling
rope whacks the floor, sizzles the
air, my panicky feet leap
to clear the recurring hurdle, my
heart ticks faster and faster and-
'ok, stop'.