LAST ROUND

he sat and watched the old trainer tape his hands
and noticed the calcium deposits on his arthritic wrists
he pondered how many times he punched a heavy bag in his career
how many chins, how many speed bags, how many walls?
age takes its' toll
he had cauliflower ears and a perforated eardrum
he had hearing aids but never used them
the fight was in an old warehouse
most club fighters know these places...
where cheap beer is tended and cigar smoking chubs jeer at fighters
he was old, but in shape...
and fighting a kid who was young enough to be his son
he thought of the stenosis in his neck
his arthritic shoulders and rotator cuff problems
he knew he had glass hands, but he could still punch for a couple of rounds
his wind was adequate, but the job had to be done in three
he started jabbing and using combinations in his locker room
he worked himself up into a lather
he felt good and the adrenaline started surging
it was just like the old days
those halycon days of youth
he made the journey to the ring
skipping like a young fighter
bouncing up and down, he felt winded
"don't show fear", he thought to himself
the crowd jeered at him
they called him a bum...a tomato can...an old man
this fueled a deep rage inside of his gut
the bell rang and he was in a dream
the kid came out fast
the old man covered up
the flurries came fast, but the old man wasn't hurt
the old fighter observed that the kid held his hands low
the bell rang after what seemed an eternity of three minutes
the old man survived the first round
his cut man fixed an old wound over his eye
he was told to "breathe"
the bell rang and the old man came out for round two
the kid taunted him
he laughed at him
the kid stuck his chin out with his hands held low
the old man popped him with two left jabs
he followed with a right cross
and a hellacious uppercut
the kid had round heels
he was cold-cocked
the crowd roared its' disapproval
the old man gasped for air as the referee raised his arm
it was the last round