TSM 145

Snappish winds 
start a locker room towel fight,
welting my skin with pops of ice.

I don't see it coming, a left hook of cold 
blasts the side of my face 
and I'm seeing stars, no

It is snow,
the fisticuff air 
full of mirror shards

blown out of thin, tin air.
Color me gargantuan, 
color me snow blind,

the gloves are coming off 
you winter SOB! 
Wait no, the gloves go back on! Dammit!

[redacted:
a flurry, a blizzard
of blows]

[redacted:
"The first rule
of Fight Club…"]

[redacted: I am a mime
waving away rainbow gnats,
pestilent sparkles]

Back at the house,
the pipes are frozen, and when they thaw
they will burst.

January, by TKO. 

The Sunday Muse

33 thoughts on “TSM 145

  1. The metaphors of this are some of the best I’ve seen – unique and brutal, with humor strewn throughout. You keep your reader off his footing. The redacted inserts are smart. Especially like the locker room towel fight – so like winter to be that gleefully mean. This is great!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Yer good, kid but ya move like an ape! What ya need is a manager!

    I love this. A season as an opponent, it’s visceral, and that ending is the best ending to a poem since the early Jurassic. Bravo.

    Yer LEFT, kid, yer LEFT!

    Liked by 1 person

  3. “the fisticuff air full of mirror shards” love that phrase. Winter can certainly throw punches. The coldest walk I ever took in my life was in a wind chill of 65 below. I had no choice. The cupboards were empty and I had two young girls to feed. I didn’t even want to take a breath.

    Liked by 1 person

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