The Knockout

The bell clanged “Time!” again. The boxers sparred,
Creep-footed, tiger-muscled, cautious-eyed,
Love the bright pugilist with his glance enskied,
Fate swart as rock, indomitably hard.
Slashing the battle joined of bull and pard
With blows like hammerstrokes. A thick sob died
In the crowd’s throat. Fate’s poison-smile grew wide,
His mountainous fist ripped Love’s too-careless guard.

Fate smashed the reeling struggle to the ropes,
Poised for the knockout; hurled his brute attack,
—And suddenly was lying on his back—
“Nine—Ten!” the slow words came like punctured hopes—
Laughing I clapped, and winked at languid Love.
I knew he had a star inside his glove!