every day that passes
leaves a stain
that just won’t rub off
the sky overcast
bad weather creeping in
and my oh my
this living
gets harder
every day that comes
that goes
and here we are
standing eight
on chosen ground
standing eight
been here before: standing eight
the legs wobbly
the arms exhausted
the head throbbing
but fire still
in the eyes
standing eight
three
to a round
and one more
to go
boxing
with shadows
as memory
pulls
no punches
this night