death shot poem

Lemme show my death shot

Padlocked gymnasium, I am boxing.

Grips the high stick, stack while worn out EverLast smacks the floor,
Swings, I heard stories, he broke some faces, bloodied,
"This shot is for..."
Tennis ball for puck drives into window.
He set the bleachers all on the sides.
"This is my death shot for -
her my girlfriend!"

The death shot series, six of six, run from the wall to the other side,
Show me,
Hockey nine iron swung, facial expression the same.
I take off the gloves, skin peels knuckles red, chain rattles, steady the bag.  I feel good, I get paid, threat on my life gone in a punch. Non threat.

Speaking in Italian accent,"That's your death shot for her, you're an artist, where is thou art?"

Hand me the stick, air is dairy-free pudding I twirl highly, ballerina boxer,
Moonwalk with the ball, focus crazy romance from this screaming sweat box.
Championship bulls come from the corners, steamed jawbones, street tuff corrections 101, see me in all red.
I'm still dancing with the hockey, no play games.
Throw flowers in the ring.
Shuffle stance card throwing aims, Abstract Naughty silver ring,
"What's her name?"
"Can it be, Lola?"
"Lola, me voilà! 
I present you my death shot."