I.
Men have always bashed each other
and now women pummel
each other to the ground.
Points given for winning a round,
by knocking the opponent out
so they can't get up for ten seconds,
or beating them so badly a ref
decides they can't compete.
Those were the Friday Night Fights
when I was a kid and, like most kids,
I loved what my Father loved.
Dad, my uncle and aunt
were hunched before our small
black and white TV.
Watched the Pabst Blue Ribbon
sponsored fights between
young men, who wanted to escape
their ghettos, bashed
in the faces and brains
of those of the same background,
hope to attain the Golden Gloves.
My brother and I
picked out our favorites
and cheered and booed.
The blood was black on white
and black on black
which you couldn’t really see.
II:
As I grew older, I learned boxing
was the exploitation of poor young men,
mostly of color, but a lot of white boys
from tough backgrounds too.
Boxing was a way to glory
most did not attain— financially alluring,
dangerous and brutal—
some killed in the ring
or brain-damaged for life.
My best friend Marcus and I
argued because he loved boxing
and was a huge fan of a young Cuban boxer.
The poor countries also sent their youth
to a type of Hunger Games.
He defended the sport
till one day he called me up
because his champion had been
so badly beaten he died in the ring
in what was just another amateur match.
Marcus never watched a boxing match again.
III:
Short-story writer Thom Jones
saved his own life by boxing.
His dad was a pro fighter,
who taught him what many call sport,
because it makes so much money
and draws rabid crowds,
unlike dog or rooster fights
hidden in the backwoods
of poor nations who still
send their boxers our way.
Drafted for the Vietnam War,
Jones had a final match and was beaten
so badly he about died, but it cancelled
his draft notice and prompted the stories.
The story that made him famous
featured his best friend,
who did not box but died in the battle
where Thom would have been killed that day,
the whole unit wiped out.
Men and women still box.
Fans still cheer, no matter.
Different eras, same results.
Originally published in The Tenth Muse