The Ring by Kate Jayroe

BIG BOLD black and white stripes. Whistles so shiny you can see your own sweat in them and the smell of spilling hops and potato grease, sugars of all sorts. Washed and unwashed denim and XXL cotton tees and costumes. The boy wears a tall and silly wig with big, blonde spikes. He sits with his fists balled tight and going light in his lap. There are lights and big metal screens. Cages, everywhere the eye can go.

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Rock ‘Em Sock ‘Em Thoughts
Where do dreams go,
down the pie hole?
Always remember to at least
keep all webbed feet, lanky arms,
angel wings and tails in the vehicle,
and throw your
Rock 'Em Sock 'Em boxing gloves
to fight on, champion.

frequently confused
by the uninitiated ignorant of their identity.
The i of informer pushes the e of explanation;
when a racing ragamuffin stubs her little big toe
on the end of Grandma's chintzy chesterfield,
she yelps "aieeeeee"

the diet
I sneak

Wendy
into my

bedroom