Achill Ladd - The Kid.

The Kid walked purposefully down the aisle,
Nerves twanging behind the inscrutable smile.
He'd walked this path many times before,
Each time as nervous, he knew the score.

Adrenalin pumping through every vein.
The kid's come to fight one more campaign.
Then up he steps and through the ropes,
There's his rival, could dash his hopes.

The first bell, and he's centre ring bound.
Has to keep his opponent moving around.
Jab, jab, jab, left hook straight right.
The Kid has to win this one last fight.

His Betty is watching from a ringside seat.
She marvels at his dancing feet.
He's floating on air, he's a gliding ghost.
He has to win, he needs this most.

Back to his corner, he sits on the stool.
The man he's fighting is nobody's fool.
Kid has the will, he has the skill, but years have a price.
He has to end this early. It's his last throw of the dice.

Then back to centre stage he goes.
Bobbing, weaving, trading blows.
Left then right, left hook to chin,
Sharp combinations he rains in.

His opponent's reeling, it's become a rout.
The ref. steps in and stops the bout.
The Kid winks to Betty, gives a faint grin.
His ambitions realised. His final win.

Achill Ladd

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-kid-11/