My Punching Bag

“ I can’t wait to float like a butterfly sting like a bee and fight like the boxers on T.V. like the great Alhemadli.”

He hangs so sloth like

He is still as a rock yet

As soft as a bed of flowers.

He dreams of me using my magical Kong Fu power.

He waits for you til you

Tickel him with your punches.

He lies so sleeply solemnly

And he a waits for you to come home.

Greeting you with a smile and a hi

Before he can finish his sentence punches fly

The sounds of the sweat beads coming down

Kissing the floor I got to keep moving

I got to keep moving I got to keep

Punching more and more.

They come back down on him

As summer storm and feels,

Quite beat up and worn torn to the brim

And thus the life of the punching bag is quite grim.

My eyes are swollen

The lights are going dim I know

I should have stopped my job at the boxing gym.