Uncupped Hand

Softly in your uncupped hand
Sat among gnarls and wire cuts
Lustred heaps of calloused
Schoolyard savageries

Where it all began

And now?
An old brilliantine bruiser
Watching amber effervesce
Among motes and jangling slot machines
The slow afternoon sunshine
Bursts your weathered glare

You're there again but never seen
Parading about the ring in
Shifts, sleights, feints, dud turns
And ragged dead-hand rolls of
Grog and battered head bones;
These waxen scars laced down their side
Stretched loose toward the smallest knuckle
Are glossed with the smokey charm forgone
Of working men and bar room banter

These are the real show
(Soft)
The real you in your gently upturned
Uncupped hand.