“15th Round”

Forty eyes of blue and brown,
and other assorted colors,
come to spar each hour
with the lack of what I know.

Bored, excited
smart and dull;
they always come

with bright Star Wars notebooks
and strange shaped pens,
anxious to jot down
some note of wisdom,

or failing that,
to doodle Freudian images
to count down the time.

 Eager, tired,
pleasant, glum,
they always come.

Twenty pairs of blue jeans
with messages,though somethe plain pockets kind.
Tennis shoesoes
modified hiking boots dance across my floor,Funny,
their feet,the quietest of their moving parts.

 Soon a questions,
now another,
and another;
Then a bell,like a drunken boxer or
Pavlov’s dogs.
They move with the sound
and leave me alone
for another round.