Boxer

BOXER The late October day marked the last of the tragic encounters framed by the ropes he preferred to the streets where a journeyman boxer needs more than taped hands for the troubles he sees There had been no title shot, no top ten ranking, just fifteen years of blows to the body, to the head, to the soul - volcanic eruptions, fissures and earthquakes, myriad tremors in the plate tectonics of the fist-pummeled brain He needed sixty more seconds of glaring bright lights and a bored, bloody crowd in a small-time arena in a town far away Sensing his moment, he slipped to the right, flicked two stinging jabs, bobbing and weaving, then three quick strikes and a pivot to the left that put him flat on his feet for a violent combination with a killing uppercut that soothed the roar in his head, reduced the blur in his vision, sent the menacing shadow to the canvas for the count then left him out on the sidewalks working, breathing hard, dancing and pivoting like a big circus bear, punching the air on a cold afternoon before wary passing strangers who tried not to notice, in a town far away!