Poems about boxers

Nothing is worse,
Than thinking thoughts
You know
You shouldn't be thinking...

You try and shut them up,
Try and cut them off mid-sentence.

Alas,
This just makes them scream more.

They echo.

... and the very thing that makes them thoughts that you shouldn't be thinking, is the thing that makes them
Stick.

The horror you feel
For that one second,
Gives them new life...

... turns them from fleeting thoughts,
To secrets
That must be kept.

Oh, carry-on bags and Aeropostale apostrophes,
Mere fabric catastrophes

It's a half-waltz dance to a song with few words,
All of which are in garbled Italian

It's a murmured What the fuck? and a
High laugh

Tripping over your own feet has never been
So elegant

Theres going to be fun at night
When the moon shall shine
To hell with suits
Just show up with your short boxers

I get to the ring as brave as can be.
No fear at all as I listen to the crowd cheer.
I go into the ring with no signs of fright.
Just ready to fight.
They call my name. Now i wait for my fame.
I take steps to the center of the ring as the bell sounds with a ding.
A job here and a job there. As we dance around the ring.
I hear the bell ring and I think the world is prepared to see.
The mighty boxer I can be.
Then I hear the count of eight.
Someone, yells you should have ducked.
. Now there is nothing more to fight.

Take your briefs to meetings,

Your boxers to the ring,

Lose your pants baby,

And let nature do it's thing.