Slash and flick the air
Striding to the strip
You slap your leg
Snort and jump into a deep on guard
After every touch
A grunt
Or yell
Or tenor ululation
After every questionable call
A grimace of disgust
Voice raised in indignation
Arms gesture, miming what you think you did
Head shakes in despair
If I hit you (when)
There’s hell to pay
Charging down the strip
Beating at my blade with all your strength
Anything to put me in my place
Payback
Intimidation
And (here’s the kicker)
It’s just practice
What call for such testosterone-induced ferocity?
Set aside the “Y” for just a bit
Listen to your inner X and be…a mensch
If not a mentor then at least
A co-explorer of the possibilities
Within the bout
A fellow traveler who can
Celebrate what I do well and
(on rare occasions) lose with grace
Combat is not always war, ok? So call a truce, and battle me with gentle violence, calm determination. AND...DON’T...YELL.
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