Punchdrunk

                                  It wore him down

His head was hanging sideways,

His lids were slits.

This happened almost nightly now.

He raised the glove

And waited for another round.



He waited for the bell to ring,

He prayed the lord would save his eyes.

He heard church-folk swaying and sighing

"it's all right."



He liked his kids,

He liked his sky-blue Valiant,

He like the pay.

"The boss' fine young talent"

They all would say.

And just a pension later

He'll be free,

Do what he wants.

Bereave the dream,

Now sleep,

Now slowly die