The Knockout

The bell clanged “Time!” again. The boxers sparred, Creep-footed, tiger-muscled, cautious-eyed, Love the bright pugilist with his glance enskied, Fate swart as rock, indomitably hard. Slashing the battle joined of bull and pard With blows like hammerstrokes. A thick sob died In the crowd’s throat. Fate’s poison-smile grew wide, His mountainous fist ripped Love’s too-careless guard.

Fate smashed the reeling struggle to the ropes, Poised for the knockout; hurled his brute attack, —And suddenly was lying on his back— “Nine—Ten!” the slow words came like punctured hopes— Laughing I clapped, and winked at languid Love. I knew he had a star inside his glove!