Punch Drunk. A poem.

I can feel the jagged terrain
of your knuckles on my face,
the force of mountain slides
delivered on winds of fury
and ever-reckless contempt.
Should I return the favour
or turn the other cheek,
as my saviour recommends?
I’ll go down this time
with measured complacency,
keeping my fumes interned.
Because, after all:
what’s an absent punch
between absent friends?

I write a lot of poems, some from my head, some from my heart. Many don’t appear on this website. For more of my poetry, check out The All or the Nothing, my first e-book, available at most online book sellers.

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