Member Poem

What I remember
is lying on the wet grass,
the grass tickling my ears,
and a boy with a razor sharp crew cut
and an ugly smile
leveling his fists on my face
until my Grandma came out
and yanked him off me.

I staggered up, the battered
boxer, ears ringing, my Grandma
dabbing my face with a dish towel,
while the neighborhood kids called the fight
a technical draw.