The Prizefighter

Ascending
with an extra spring in his step.
The Prizefighter heads upstairs
To bed
Alone.
But with a scent of victory on the lips
And sweat behind the ears.

Tonight’s victory was seized
By hands and feet that still
Ache with every battle
That came before it.
That ache, dulled now
Will return.
The Prizefighter knows this.

Now though
Now is the time to revel
In the afterglow
Of another night
When modesty is left for
The con-men
And hopeless romantics.

It is then and there
That he knows
He is invincible
He is untouchable
It is with this that he smiles
At that big empty bed.