He's Just a Whisper

By Richard L. Provencher

Wed, 27 Feb 2019
  • 566 reads
2 comments
 

from boxer days when his name

was boss on the marquee

of a guy in an ocean of sharks.

His stature on the street

allows other homeless souls to flee

his gaze – the hardness

he has lived – the fists

which brought him fame.

 

Memories remain

of success in the ring

and adulation in the faces

of patrons who once shrieked

his name.

The years unkind and scars

for a life of fame expensive –

lost friends when fights

and money escaped his wallet.

 

The only reputation left is the

fullness of his name

the magic in his

fists now an ad

for rheumatoid arthritis.

 

 

Certificate PG
Poem
Words that Matter
Surreal

Comments

Submitted by Nolan on

Yesterday's hero. Cheers Richard &

 

Submitted by Richard L. Prov... on

Thank you, Nolan. I boxed once with my youngest, he was 13 -- wiry and muscled. I was a little chubby and strong arms tough from hiking and camping. He hit me once right on the side of the face. It hurt. Really hurt and I threw my gloves on the ground and never touched them again. He's 51 now. How time flies. He lives near Vancouver. His name is Scott I tried to write a book about his life. Took 15 years to write an e-book-- "Run Kenny, Run."  I cried rivers about the nine years before he came into our lives, then the years of challenges he lived through after adoption. .   

Richard L. Provencher