Black and white fighters
on a black and white screen,
bloody lips and swollen eyes,
a bruise to match
his clenched fists.

I early learned to hate boxing,
Dad's one-two with the bag in the basement.
The house would shake
as he fought his invisible opponents.
Down the stairs he would heave them
hidden inside a
red Christmas record
or the ironing board
that left a gash in the door
he never repaired.

#2, Harpy || #3, Triptych