The Boxers, by Andrew Christoforakis

The Boxers, by Keith Haring (USA) 1987. Photo: neeel from les contamines-montjoie, france, CC BY 2.0 , via Wikimedia Commons

The Boxers

I’m sorry for punching a hole
in your head. I only meant to break
your nose, crumple it like a candy bar
wrapper on the street under foot traffic
and now I’ve taken out the part of your brain
responsible for speech, maybe even forgiveness.
But you got your licks in and here we are
fist-deep in one another and neither willing
to move, and I understand the intimacy
of that phrase fist-deep, which seems so coarse
and vulgar, but if I knew a better alternative
then you’ve throttled it out of me.
Maybe if we stand here then from the side
we’ll look like game show assistants
revealing a brand-new car or the secret
of living with holes in our chests
and how to go from a young man
angry at his shadow and throwing punches
at the air to something more steel,
something more solid, and I don’t know
if you complete me or only staunch
the bleeding, so intertwined that
maybe if we move again, we’ll die.

Andrew Christoforakis

Andrew Christoforakis studied economics at the University of Chicago before making a hard left turn toward writing poetry. He lives in Naperville, IL along with his misbehaved cat, and works a day job when he isn't writing.