Collage Poem

The poem is from a collage I am working on. I don't think it comes out of the myriad of "boxing" poems I have done of late, but more to fit the character(s) in the collage.


Twin’s Boxing
In the living room
Gloves knotted over wrists
In brown cracked leather
Worn-down in others sweat.

Dad’s voice rang
Smoke pouring from his mouth.
Chairs made the ring
And ring-side seats.

Gloves collided, too big
To do physical damage.
One could see any punch coming-
A hook was a birthing process.
All jabs and bluster were right up front.
In a clinch, arms so heavy
One wanted to hold the other
For rest.

We were entertainment for our parents-
Like Lawrence Welk, sans bubbles
And music, and the folks dancing.
Wunerful, wunerful.