in the mind he rehearses a sequence of blows lefts and rights uppercuts the jabbing low whilst dancing and skipping on spry feet
insides...
butterflies start to flutter around in his insides yet knowing the opponent must not see any nerves he's got to be cool and assertive the glove's punch deliveries being a bout winner
dreaming...
it's fight night at the Las Vegas Grand Garden Arena he'll slog it out for the welter weight title muscles poised his package ready to wear the crowning belt buckle
NB: A poem written for an American poet friend, who is a boxing enthusiast.