May 18, 2002

What held them up
After so many strikes to body and head,
Both bleeding, bruised, and battered,
The canvas bespattered with their blood,
Blow-by-blow the brawlers battled,
They punched with pain and passion,
Their pugnacity profound and pitiless,
Their courage conjuring Greek gods of war
And a tragedy of trajectory
In which a fight can never end.
“Come on, come on,” the combatants
Beckoned to each other.
Dying, they never felt more alive.