The Sweet Science

CLICK HERE TO HEAR AUTHOR READ

Married thirty-three years.

Thirty three years of talking,

rehashing the same old conversation

in different words and tones.

Starts with

I want…

and ends with I feel…

In between there are pauses,

like pugilists to their corners.

We’ve been talking less and less lately,

my wife and I. 

As if it’s taken thirty-three years

for the conversation to wind down,

realizing that all the back and forth

was really shadowboxing,

learning The Sweet Science.

And when you’re evenly matched

and gone the distance, as we have,

bruised, swollen, sweaty and exhausted

from gut-punches, 

upper-cuts,

right hooks, 

left hooks,

there comes a point when 

you fall into each other’s arms:

Then time reverses,

you stand there, surrounded by well-wishers,

wrists held by a bow-tied man centre ring

under lighted canopy,

await the ceremonial chime of a bell

and fateful words: 

We have a decision.

Hugs of congratulations,

and consolation.

You've done your best,

given everything you have,

held nothing back.