Wrestlers Poem by Joe Bisicchia

Crammed school gymnasium,
rowdy partisans.
Two young men,
merely boys,
twist on center mat.

Seemingly not so long ago,
they wore out two families' carpets.
They outgrew legroom in the laughter.
A broken vase and lamp,
each a mother's sure disaster.

Now, beady eyed adults
yell out commands,
barely pausing for breath.
Two young men
take it step by step

alone on center mat.
Half nelson.
Wisdom knows what's next.
Life's real decisions
await the aftermath.

But they'll both do well.
At one home there's a glued vase.
At the other, the lamp is camouflaged.
So much for the damages.
No one would ever tell.





Published in YARN, Spring/2017