Pancake

PANCAKE


He was used to having blood running
Through his nose like a lost child running from the cops.

The blood flowed down his lip forming a puddle
Of blood on the cleft of his chin


Punches, hard shattering punches to his face and body
Bare knuckles held sweat and cuts in its mangles pores.

His mouth held swallowed snot loose teeth with dry spit.



He is mean
Never gifted
Never a winner
He hit hard…and he needed the money.

He broke in champions yet
Never fought a champion fighter his whole life.

Pancake loved ice-cold water
2min and 22 sec
Is the time he let the water run before he drank it?

In that time you heard the water choking out of the faucet,
Shades of brown until finally clear.


Pancake waited for everything even a glass of water.

Yet what he was really waiting for was purity
Copyright © | Year Posted 2011

Poem

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January 4, 2011 at 9:29 AM
love the way you ended this, enjoyed your write Frank,..p.d.
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