Boxing Match: Round 1 Poem by Kewayne Wadley

He stepped out, towering his opponent in stature.
The start of the first round began with a quick jab to the nose.
After a touch of gloves.
The Light Heavyweight bout was on the way.
A Textbook Style Verus a Bully style of boxing.
They danced around the ring, him and he.
Judging the distance between each punch thrown.
Slowly stepping in. faking each other out. A quick gesture of the head and shoulders.
They inched closer, One lowering his guard
proceeding with a body shot.
response to the surgically placed jab that started the fight.
Offsetting the lightening fast jabs that missed it's mark.
The glove tightly compressed against his opponents right side as he stepped back. Slight headbutt included from the top of his head to the bottom end of his opponents chin.
The crowd booed as the referee allowed it.
Inside out they danced.
Light footwork as their feet planted and swung.
The tape keeping his hand steady, firm.
Unleashing a devastating flurry of right hands followed by the left.
Measuring the space between them.
The crowd watched on.
The body blows making it difficult to breathe.
Forceful blows taken to the sternum
Their eyes connected as the padded leather shielded the blows.
One seeped through the yet perfected Philly shell. Striking downward against his opponents headgear. backing back in step.
Aiming again for the nose.
Two quick jabs to the body.
The crowd roared in amazement as his opponent made a quick recovery.
Faulting in what was expected to be a knockdown.
A forceful blow shaken off.
As he Followed his opponents backward step like a shadow.
Head faking.
Using his shoulders as a means of distraction.
Swinging body blow, after body blow.
Shooting a straight back at his head only to be blocked by a forearm.
Sending a sharp powerful vibration through his opponents arm.
They stepped back. while the corner yelled 'Stay away from the ropes! '
With the Minutes counting down.
Their Footwork judged the amount of skill shown as they both gracefully dodged each others blows, both fairly conditioned.
He turned to his side, using his shoulder to block most of the blows.
Slightly heavier in size.
Catching him open.
Connecting one or two jabs padded by each others gloves in exchange.
quick flashes of red and blue armature gloves.
Flung Left, right.
High, Low.
Bouncing off their headgear, shoulders.
Right pass their heads.
Seeking to destroy with each blow that landed.
Deadly intent as sweat poured with the anticipation of the anxiousness that persisted.
Palms sweated inside their gloves.
The smell of popcorn and cigar smoke loomed in the air.
The mummers of different conversations were heard through the air.
The shimmer of gold and diamond rings gleamed as the beads of sweat beaded down their foreheads.
The camera crews recorded all. Different in coverage.
Stringing their cords. Switching in different views to bring the highlights soon as they happened.
An uppercut was thrown.
Discombobulating, his opponent.
Offsetting his step. Already in motion.
Like a shark aroused by the smell of blood.
Hunger intervened as he stepped in close looking to capitalize.
Planting his feet, only to be caught off guard by a right hook to the left side of his jaw.
Quickly stunning him.
Popcorn littered the floor as the bag tilted over, spilling.
As one man stood up in the audience.
Hands clapped from the front row littered with cigar smoke.
The right hook left him staggered. As he stood dazed for a moment.
His opponent became blurred.
A cross was thrown.
The perfect opportunity, as he wove and grabbed on to his opponent
As he moved just in time before the cross connected.
The bell rung.
Signaling the round was over.