The stick, and the hilltop. The stick brings the stick-bearer back to the hill.
You sit on a steel bench in the dressing room, hands taped, gloves on, Vaseline smeared on your face like war paint.
As the warrior guided his horse back home, he pondered what the future might hold. The scuffle of a few moments ago was done, in the past, and not be to be dwelt on.
In his dreams, Humberto overslept and was late. His alarm clock didn’t go off. The car wouldn’t start.
Upon reading that Muhammed Ali was banned from boxing for three years, I wondered what he did come August. This August. That August.