Doodling . . .


Let me prove it to you. I’ll sit here
and look you in the eye with a knee
to my back and blood
dripping from my nostril. I’ll batter
my head against a brick wall, cut
my knuckles on teeth and bleed
a few more ounces. I’ve been knocked down
more than once. I’m sick
enough to know not to quit.
I’m not tired just yet. Listen, I can swing
like a windmill. I’ll ground you
to powder. I’ll not bat an eye
or blink at your flurries. I can take it.
I can stick my chin up and receive
the grace of your upper-cut. Lord,
is that all you can dish? Are you not
heart enough? Are you not ghost
enough to give me a lickin’? Quick,
jab my nose. Kick my shin
and toss me to the ground. Shovel
the dirt on me. Split my lip.
Crack my rib. Spit on my grave.
I’ll fight filthy.

Oliver de la Paz