Submitted by Benjamin Gorman on January 4, 2012
the curved backrest of a wooden chair
rises over snow-dusted asphalt—
a boxer’s bowed spine
pulling himself up from canvas
broken spars of wood that held back to seat
cling like broken teeth;
training and instinct tell him
get up! get up and fight!
scattered around the back alley with other trash:
seat, legs—yesterday’s bones.
KO’d in the 12th, this brutal match is over:
stay down, stay down.
(for January 3)
Submitted by Benjamin Gorman on January 2, 2012
First snow of winter
gingerbreads our neighborhood
in powdered sugar.
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