The End of Boxing

by Scott Davidson

All night, I’ve ducked and bobbed like I should. If this guy was ever the chump I was told, he would have given up something by now. Instead

I keep getting hurt somewhere different. Maybe my corner — these veterans of the ring — should have checked things out, or at least

if they were part of it all along, feign some interest in minimizing damage. Was it always the plan to stand there and watch? When I spit

and miss the bucket, it’s not by chance. Look at your shoes, my single sneering look is saying. See how much I loathe you now. See

how I’m standing with loathing to fuel me. Rising to face a future in which my only choice is attack, I’ll absorb the damage

as long as I can, hoping my bluff will keep him retreating, cause him to fall, after which I’ll walk out never looking back.

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Scott Davidson is a graduate of the University of Montana’s writing program and lives in Missoula, Mont. His poems have appeared in The Potomac Review, Poets/Painters/Composers, Shadow Road Quarterly, and the Permanent Press anthology, Crossing the River: Poets of the Western United States. Poems are forthcoming in Bright Bones: Contemporary Montana Writing.