It puffs its chest, opens its jaws
to hurl the studied yawn it's drawn
to melt my spine, morph me back
to some invertebrate design.
Outraged I won't comply, cower
on the carpet at my waist or thrash
to shore, it curls its lips in a swelling curse,
flaring venom from the tips.
I stare at its practiced threats,
its final fearsome bloat,
then smile, suck a patch of air
and slice a tunnel through its throat.
Wizened wizard of self-defense, unrelenting mirror
of the warrior I once was, you return, punch-drunk,
smiling to my home. Largely unaware
of what's around, something made you cross
a continent to climb inside the ring with me once more.
As I grew up and you grew old I learned a move
the gods decreed you couldn't teach: at times it’s best
to drop the mantis hands and leave your chin exposed.
First to break from every clinch, you still fear
a lethal knock-out when your son draws near.
I hear your rhythmic shuffle on my kitchen floor,
watch your parade of feints and self-deceptions,
accept your jabs not as distractions to be parried
but familiar contacts from a knight of non-stop bouts.
I endure your constant sparring, know your punches whisper
love, not war. Signals you've not lost your heart, they're flashed
at me who, excavating mine, has finally found yours too.
Streaming lavish perfume, she flows by in Nikes
like I don't exist. Showered by fey molecules,
I'm tangled in a mist of swirling beauty,
wafting tresses, easy youth and speed.
Along the running path my footfalls crunch their
old tattoo. Cradled in their battered hubs, my legs
grind ever larger sockets in my hips and knees.
I muse on yesterdays of starting guns, cinder tracks,
roaring crowds, and chested strings. Eyes half-closed,
I smile, sigh, glide awhile inside her ebbing plume.
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