Boxing Coach

My poet friend, Burl Whitman (aka Craig Brandis), has been writing all month. I admire his dedication (I think his recent output has something to do with April being National Poetry month, but make no mistake, Burl’s his own man, he doesn’t fall for that Make America Rhyme Again! claptrap). Beyond admiration, I love getting to open my inbox and finding, amid the meeting reminders, ads, and work requests, an original poem. And not just any poem, but one with a distinctive voice and the courage to speak.

Write on, Burl! Write on!

Here’s a recent creation of Burl’s that floated like a butterfly and buzzed like a bee, before it came in close, hammered me in the gut with a quick one-two, and finished me off with featherlight tap under the chin that I never saw coming.

Poetry is dangerous. Stay low.

Boxing Coach

Drop your hips when you punch
and when you block. In close
don’t forget the upper cut

Be quick as a heart attack
but don’t show all at once
Like a deadman’s hill on a back road
you don’t see until you are right up on it

I bet Jesus had an uppercut
Way he threw them money changers out the temple
You need something to back that up
Remember, drop your hips