Kid Ll Poem by robert dickerson

Then back to the mat for 'abs'.
Sit ups. Crunches. Non stop.
forty, fifty, fifty two fifty three
Yeh. A new kind of pain,
a new kind of exultation.
I like to feel the burn, these days,
in my arm, of bloodhard muscle,
the heat of bone knuckling bone.
I like the syn-
aesthesia of connection, the very most
correct displacement of matter and air;
and I like this kid.

'We'll have you sparring in three,
um, maybe four months',
he promises, maybe half my age, and 'why not'?
There has been gain. Anyone can see.
Three minutes is not the eternity it was
a few short weeks ago; form 'better'.
stamina 'improved'; footwork (it's
everything) 'still something wanting'.
'And your best punches come from here',
he reminds, glove settling on a rocky hindquarter
'concentrate'