The Pugilist
Amid dusty shelves
and pickled apples in mason jars
the rusted chain
suspends the corn-seed sack
the bag -
once stout with winter wheat
dancing beneath the claps
and cheers of chains and rafters -
thins as wheat rots from the inside
its burlap, still checkered
with shards of skin
and dried tractor grease,
hooded by dust
blight bleeding vigor;
the aged pugilist, succumbing
to jabbing sunlight
from an elevated window
awaits the haymaker
