Pre Fight Poem by Mark Curtis

At the venue arrive in time,
to hit someone and not a crime.
Cold corridor you walk at pace,
the time to switch to poker face.

Dressing room with music blurring,
reflected view you just keep staring.
Boots tied tight put protectors on,
hear a fight the bell sounds one.

Shorts are next; “MAS” on the loom,
nerves kick in now clear the room!
Sweaty palms while hands are wrapped,
the guns of war beneath now trapped.

Gloves secured tape fixed around,
eyes are clear but not a sound.
Focus pads to raise a sweat,
sample what opponents get.

Music sounds name’s called out loud,
your mind is blank your on a cloud.
Walk to the ring, are you really there?
Or sat a home in a rocking chair?

copyright 2009 Mark Curtis