A Cornered Box (The Sport of Boxing)
Poem
Room in the corner for rest. Where arms sleep— a knockout test. Cells, cells inside the champion... called on champion for bis, except calling champion, champion to breath. Fores, tris, so on... But the corner, stinks like perfume, stinks like cologne, a jacket creating box. Spreads say say— stay a little longer. Left! Which was another strategy... up, side, top, in, then to the upper corner. Rare.
Thank you for reading! Which part of the poem resonates with you? Share your thoughts! Please leave a comment. Copyright 2025 K.A. Smith
About the Creator
K.A. Smith
K. A. Smith – published author and poet with experience in architectural design. I try to bring love and life into every poem or story. I believe every piece of art is "effective" in some way. Please follow along, and share your thoughts.
Enjoyed the story? Support the Creator.
Subscribe for free to receive all their stories in your feed.
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.