Box Poem by Victor Sklyarov

(translation from Russian poem of Natalia Nikiforova)

Came up referee and proclaimed
“Shake your hands” and the bout commenced
At me fiercely my rival aimed
I’d been measured and all assessed.

I’m alert and a little strained
But my back hits the rim of rope,
I miss hook, mouthshield flies astray,
Just hold on – I’m still on-the-go!

Taste of blood, angry trainer’s shouts,
I won’t fall, I am springing back,
And ahead I move in a bout
Concentrating will in a knack.

My contestant has puzzled air,
I just noticed fault in defense,
Now the chances are almost fair
And the bout may really commence.

Counterblow is strong, he is snapped,
He staggers on rubbery legs
With his breath coming out in pants
And the strength in the topmost peg.

My second hit’s sharp and exact,
And knocks out my enemy’s will.
Bout’s over! And life is correct!
At the ring I am standing still.