The Wait.

The Wait.

You bide your time. You wait in a line.

You wait on the flight that’s always late.

You wait to eat. You don’t complain.

Patience is the name of the game.

You’ve been waiting your whole life. This is boxing.

You’re a fighter. Just like your father.

You wait for the scale, the doctor and the circus too. You wait for the meetings, the officials and the songs.

You wait for the bell.

It rings out its metallic cry.

And all at once the waiting ends.

Your strength cracks the air like lightning.

Wild eyes wide, nostrils flared you feel no pain. 

Knuckles crack bone, the crowd roars.

A heart is beating hard and blood is falling on the canvas.

You’ll wait to find it isn’t yours.

You wait for the punch, the one you know will end this game.

When you see it, will you wait again?   

In this place where time is gone, will you watch him fall?

You wait for the judges, you wait to celebrate.

You wait for the bruises to heal.

You wait for your hands to stop hurting. You don’t complain.

“Good job tonite” they’ll say, and talk of what’s next. 

And you know you’ll wait again.