Calluses
The gnarly evidence of repetition
Contusions
A chromographic record of encounters
Chaos
The slop and tangle of uniform and gear
The fertile mess of armory
But most of all
Camaraderie
The shout and bustle of the salle
Loving rivalry and sweaty hugs
One would think the trade-off’s not so bad:
My joints heal, I bank sleep, mend and wire
Heck, I haven’t lost a bout since spring
Nonetheless, I find I’d rather have
Rough edges, bumps and bruises
Minor injuries, fatigue
Some scraps and wrangles
That being so,
When opportunity presents
I know I will reach out and
Take the blade again
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