No Show

“Dear Fencer, I am writing to ask if you will answer a survey about why people don’t show up for competitions they have preregistered for…”

Dear Fred

You ask what happened

Truth is,

I overslept

Last night the cat was sick 

She puked all night

I had to

Rush her to the vet

Another time, my car—the battery was dead

Or, on the road, an accident clogged up the pike

And there I sat, when

Registration closed

The furnace died, pipes burst the

Toilet is backed up the workmen said he’d come

(and didn’t show)

An inauspicious stain is creeping

Down the wall

I woke up a fever

Ancient injuries flared up

Loading my equipment to the car I

Threw out my back

The editor turned back my manuscript last night and

Asked for cuts

By first thing Monday,

‘Natch

In short

Life happened

That’s all, just

Life

In Shape

Big, with lumps

Small, with only minor bumps

All legs and arms… and postage stamp lamé

Bulging at the thighs, biceps, or tum

Knees turned in, or out, with feet a-splay

Rock solid abs, or squishy in the bum

Astounding range in size, & strength, agility

Anatomy does not dictate ability

Good Luck

Find a penny 
In the venue 
Tuck it in my shoe 

Choose a t-shirt 
Drenched with victory 
In its sweated history 

Blades heaped by the strip 
Contemplating which one to adopt 
Pick the one on top 

Silly that I think 
Beating my opponent to the center to test weight 
Can influence my fate 

I challenge you to share 
Surely you have a ritual…or three 
These superstitions aren’t unique to me!

A Feline View of Fencing

Springs skitter

Alluringly across the floor to

Hide in cracks

Wire flips and twines and twirls

And tempts

Tape

Tastes like bubble gum, and

Salt

Shoelaces

Dragging back and forth in

Mousey patterns

This bag

Dark and deep, smells like

Laundry, and laps

Altogether, I approve

If only you weren’t gone so often, and so long

Depriving me of these lovely toys

Sudate Profits

Sweaty clothes

Expand

This uniform that fit so

Neatly in my

Bag

At 6 o’clock, now overflows, and

Barely lets me

Zip

Just so, I hope my perspiration swells my

Repertoire

Bulks up my

Skill &

Salts my game

I find it funny that this

Sodden practice may, in time, ensure

My fencing doesn’t stink

Every Blessed Thing

The tip jams the
Barrel wiggles loose the
Wire pops out of its groove
And severs cleanly when you beat my blade

The socket will not hold the prongs the
Prongs work free from their appointed nests the
Body cord is faulty at the clip the alligator or
The plug

My sweaty bib grounds out, the Velcro on my
Glove will not stay closed
Tabs holding crucial D-rings fail
Leaving me unmoored

The floor cord jams
The turtle starts to crawl along the floor the
Box displays its lights in
Seemingly random array

With all the fardeling around it takes to make the pieces work
It’s a bloody wonder that we ever get to fence

The Feline Fencer

Tabby is a cautious beast
She teases, irritates and stalks
Instead of charging down the strip
She hunts, and takes no chances

Rarely going straight on in
Avoiding obvious attacks
She seeks, rather, to hypnotize—
Her waving blade entrances

But her favorite move by far,
Is flicking lightly from aloft
A pitter pat and tabby whack
With staccato advances

The padding feet, the
Whiskered sensitivity to threats
The lighting paw
Combine to make a fearsome foe
But if you squirm and twist away
You’ll keep her on her toes

Cats’ fatal weakness
(Hush, don’t tell) is earnest over-thinking
If you can
Engage her brain
She’ll freeze and falter, blinking

A lethal agonist, it’s true, a deadly opponent,
And yet, you’ll find, when off the strip
A gentler, more domesticated beast you’ve never met

Fencing 101

Shake hands with the grip
(A firm but gentle grasp)
Don’t clutch it like a club

Hit with the pointy end
(Aim for the middle)
Don’t thwack

When attacked
Push the blade aside
Then stick out your arm

Knees bent, butt in, shoulders back
Wrist firm, arm relaxed
Don’t sneeze in your mask

Move—use both directions
Advance AND retreat
Proper footwork—don’t go running down the strip

And (this is most important)
Don’t forget to breathe

Automotive

I want to be a car

High performance
Complex piece of engineering
Chock-o-block with safety features
Tested to the nth degree

Subject, sure, to bumps and dings
Marked after not so many years
By dimpled fenders, scratches on the side
(Not so different from what I suffer now)

But, short of a total wreck
So easy to repair! A crumpled bumper—pfft, it’s no big deal
Let’s hear it for industry standard
Duplicative swap-out parts

A falter in the engine?
Pop the faulty spark plug out,
The new one in, and
Zoom! Back on the road

Broken strut? Power off the bolts
Give it a firm whack, detach
Snug a new, strong bar in place
Instant stability

No prolonged convalescence
No inching back up to speed
No reconditioning
Just damaged…and then whole

Skip the lavish packaging
The moon roof and the heated seats
Just nail the basics—a smoothly ticking engine
Four wheels on the road

After 200 thousand miles
I’ll be ready to be junked
But until then

I want to be a car…

A Visit to Rockville Fencing Academy

50 Southlawn Terrace
Midnight, Christmas Eve
Beneath a bright Polaris
All’s quiet on the second floor
(Since, alas, we lost the mouse…)
And peace reigns in the corridor

Down the darkened hall
Beyond the stern, foreboding sign
(“Halt! Past this point, only patrons of the salle”)
A shuffle, giggle, clomping and soft “hush!”
The lock jiggles, pauses, and gives way…
In tumbles a multi-colored and chaotic rush

It’s not just dear Saint Nick, it’s the whole crew
Halfway through their rounds
Their break is overdue
In quest of cookies they’ve set forth
(As Badger Bakery’s rep has spread
From Maryland to All Poles North)

They polish off the platter
(Salty Oat and Chocolate Chip)
Tidy up stray crumbs, begin to chat and natter
They’re almost ready to embark, but lo! Attention strays
To jackets, neatly hung upon the wall
To blades, brightly arrayed

The elves begin to shuffle and postpone,
Glance at the Boss, their eyebrows raised
He sighs, and checks his phone
Mentally parsing flight times to Ukraine
Then shrugs and gestures to the room, and…
Lets chaos reign

The reindeer joust, bellowing and snorting
Up and down the strips
Noses alight with every touch, cavorting
Red Green Red Green Red Green White
The scoring machine reprogrammed
To belt out “Silent Night”

Santa fences epee, relaxing from his toils
A big man bouncing lightly on his toes.
The elves grab thirty-two inch foils
--Jackets coming to their knees,
Masks to their belly buttons--
And demonstrate their expertise

When its time to re-engage his troupe
A thump of the katana and they freeze
Gather up the scattered gear and, lightning, they regroup
Snip! Snap! Slap! Everything is back in place
The foils racked, the jackets clean and pressed
The trash thrown out, each cup and stray shoelace

Lights out, door shut, the racket fades
All’s peaceful, none would ever know
Except…the jumbled stack of broken blades
Neglected by their warder
Are wired, taped and neatly stacked
In perfect working order

With courteous formality
A neatly lettered note
“Thanks for your hospitality”
From distant sky, a jolly voice belts out
“Merry Christmas everyone
And to all, good bouts!”

Genesis

Salt to a wound
Sand to a pearl
Nucleus of inspiration

Sometimes, you teach,
The greatest leaps
Begin with irritation

And so you poke
And nip
And goad
To spur my education

Though you mean well
I often feel
Primarily frustration

Perhaps we could
Try adding in
Sporadic relaxation?

Taxonomy (continued)

Diagnostic answers to the question, “whose touch?”

Mine! Didn’t you see me take the blade!?!
You missed! Remised!
I think there’s a dead spot in your lamé…

***

Yours, I do believe
I felt you take the blade
Ever so light
A very sweet parade-riposte
Well done!

***

Dunno—together?
I can’t tell
Who started first
Let’s throw it out

I ask again—where do you see yourself?

Taxonomy

Epeeists—well versed in
Patience
Foreplay
-Rather bouncy-
Like to tease but
(Rarely) to commit

Sabreurs—oblivious to
Obstacles
Propriety
Bulls with china
Parading chests
(And paunches) in the salle

Foilists—entangled in
Complexities
Mind games
Recursive arguments
An excess of analysis
Head cases, every one

So, where do you see yourself?

Dukkha (Suffering)

Towards the lesson’s end
“Just five more good touches, then a break”
Hah. I know you lie

Coming out of pools
Seeded lower
Than when I went in

Called onto the strip
First bout of direct elimination
Realizing that I badly need to pee

Sprinting for relief
Then seeing that the cold and smelly jacket
Has to go back on

Exhausted, reaching for my bag
Discovering that
I forgot my lunch

Finally headed home in dark and cold
Finding the directions
Don’t work in reverse

Soaking in the tub
Beer in hand, it’s over and done
Except, except
There’s video of all my bouts…which I know you know

Zero Balance

High School nights—
Homework at the table
Napping like a dormouse by the fire
Bed by 9 and (shock!) a book beneath the covers

College—
Homework at the desk
(Sometimes, Sterling or Cross Campus treks)
Nodding o’er Organic Chem
Bed by 10 (no, really, it’s the truth)

No parties. No carousing
(Except a few team whoop-it-ups after
notable victories. Perhaps one all-night marathon of
D&D)

Fast forward thirty years.
Now deep night is when I’m
Warm and loose
Awake
Alert
Ready to engage

10 o’clock and I’m just started
Looking for the eight bout, or the ninth
Prepped to shed my lamé and my cord
Bracing for a lesson that will
Push me to the brink
1 am and I am virtuously tumbling into bed.
(Well, except when I am late)

The debt comes due at dawn
Up at six to stretch and start the complicated dance
Of food and pets and poop and papers
Planning for the day

Now, now I want to draw on that account
At least eight years of copious banked sleep
Plus interest
Confident it holds enough to cover my extravagant
Expenditures of time, and find it
Empty
Vacant
Spent

What gives? Who stole my
Safety net
Drained my savings
Left me
Broke?

So much for thrift

The lesson? While you’re young and have endurance
Blow the wad—don’t save it for your later years

Rest isn’t like a Twinkie, it won’t keep for decades ‘til you
Need emergency supplies

Dormouse, Dormouse Dormez-vous?

Where is the Dormouse?
Sleepy little beast
Banking up her energy
To spend upon the piste

Faced with the prospect
Of fencing fifteen points
She curls up for forty winks
To loosen up her joints

Having bounced upon the strip
Finishing the bout
She’ll collapse and take a kip
Her energy’s run out!

During Sloth Bear’s lectures
A guess to where she is?
Oblivious to “point in line”
She’s catching up on ‘z’s

So where is the Dormouse?
Taking a brief snooze
Don’t be deceived by sleepiness
Sometimes it’s just…a ruse

Gratitude

The puppy slept ‘til five this morn,
Not three

The coffee spills, but soaks the magazine
And not my book

My supervisor is too overwhelmed
To comment on my work

My riposte goes astray, but lands upon your bib
Negating your remise

The scar upon my tummy catches when I lift
Not when I lunge

My hamstring aches, but only after practice
Driving home

Each day another piece of me is weak, or torn or stressed
From half a century of use

And yet…they work

Procrastination

“I’m tired, and my foot is sore”
“I’ve already fenced you twice, I’ll wait
For a new opponent”
“My tip tape’s shredded and untidy”
(So pick at it with forefinger and thumb)
“Let’s not really fence, let’s whack, instead”
“It’s almost time to go, I might as well relax”
“Look! Cookies! I will eat just one. I earned it, right?”

So many ways to cleverly evade
The rigors of real practice
Flirting,
Playing ball,
Arguing the touch (yours or mine, and why?)
Debating fine interpretation of the rules

And (worst of all) the subtle laziness
That looks like earnest effort
Doing the same action
O’er and o’er and o’er
Why? Because it works
Avoiding the real challenge of
Experiment, and failure

So ask yourself,
How best to use the small and precious span
You have within this salle?
Why, just for example, are you wasting time
Reading this damn poem!?

Badger says: get back to work…

Please Don't (Fencing Etiquette 101)

Wipe your nose on your off hand
And then extend to shake

Wash your uniform and socks
Once or twice a month

Step upon an open strip, plug in
And then proceed to yak

On rare nights when I beat you
Mention that you’re having an off night

Whup me up and down the strip, and then
Mention that you’re having an off night

Courtesy is really not so hard
Just make believe I’ll do the same to you

The Bargain

That was not my touch
Sure, it was my
Arm, blade, point, light &, finally, score
I mean it was not me
No conscious self guided that clever glide
Around your wicked parry,
Picking up the blade on your riposte
And sailing home into
The sweet square inch between your
Shoulder and your bib

Me? I sat back and watched,
—it was very pretty
Opa! Bravo.
But if not me, then Who?
Perhaps some wayward numen, looking for a game
Lured by glittering lamés, beeps and pretty flashing lights

Well, if this is enchantment
Let me be possessed
I will perform an exorcism in reverse
You’re welcome, spirit, to
Take on my puppet flesh
Make it appear
Athletic, and adept

In return I will provide
What little currency I have to trade…
A body trained as well as I am able,
Strong and fed and somewhat rested
(And cookies, lots of cookies, if it pleases)
A minimum of injuries
Brave blades, and worthy opponents
Copious opportunity to
Exercise your art
Deal? Spit on your incorporeal hand and shake

Here’s an empty space inside, where you can settle
Shaped to hold my soul, or center (call it what you will)
I’ve checked many times—It’s vacant, waiting for a tenant
See what a good fit!
Could have been hand-tailored to your lines
Almost as if, as if…

Dammit, where’ve you been all these long years?! Hey, wait, come back!