Hey you, strange face. Yeah, you the boxer man. Cauliflowered ears. Nose misshapen and beaten, twisted and indented where the bridge meets the skin, leathery and scarred around sallow eyes. Hey you, strange face. Who are you--skin pock-marked? Cheeks and forehead sliced with razor blade blows from deathly gloves. Who are you, a referee's foil? The victor, most times long ago. Defeated in the end, as fighter's always are. Who are you, tell me now?
"I'm Manny Weinberg, God Damn it! And I got a shirt full of bullet holes. God Damn dwarfs. This is the appreciation I get. Train a few flyweights and they want to off ya's for no good reason. And don't believe nuttin' you read in no paper. Hold my Underwood. I gotta go to da' crapper, God Damn it. Wait till I get my hands on d'em dwarfs, I'll wipe my a$$ with d'ems"
Poetry Pantry #412
15 hours ago