Calling Punches

Hit me,

and get all your weight

behind the punch.

You better make it count,

I’ll tell you what.


Hope to God

that it lands

flush upon my chin

and I go down,


and don’t get back up.


There I go again,

taunting the day.

I screamed up at God,

“Come do your worst!”

It turns out God’s

got nothing on me.

When it comes to pain

and suffering,

we’re our own worst enemy.


Took a long time to realize

that I was the one

calling in the strikes.

For some dumb reason,

I keep on

getting back up,


and over



Fate didn’t destroy me,

God didn’t curse me,

and I didn’t ruin myself.

You think I might have stopped

trying by now.

Maybe something else

will come along,

and finally

I’ll stop

calling all the punches.



I’m getting too old and slow.

If I’m not careful,

one of these times,

life’s gonna land a blow,

and down I’ll go.


Duck and weave,

duck and weave,

or maybe I’ll get smart

and see

the telegraph on that punch

from a mile away,

and I’ll evade,

and finally walk away

from all this pain.



HG – 2020


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