Heroes

My grand-dad was a boxer,

Golden Gloves champ.

I always wanted to be like him

And I guess he never got that.

 

We were both fighters.

I brawled, bareknuckle,

In concrete dumps,

With roustabouts and runaways.

 

Till our eyes were black

And our knuckles dripped red,

Patched with filthy cloths

For raucous midnight conversations

In restaurants.

 

I went, on weekends,

Into the city

To find fists to call friends

And a place to call home.

 

I was a fighter,

But I was never like him.

I took on the world

And found my knuckles ground down.

 

I've broken my nose four times,

Each time reminded me of him.

 

My grand-dad was a soldier

And he's killed more men,

Women and children,

Than I have ever loved.

 

It's funny that when you get older,

You meet your heroes for the first time.

Reviews

[Dakshta]

when one learns who they really are and who they want to follow in there lives, they become whole.. nice work with poem.

[lyss]

I love seeing you grow through your poetry and how you learn more about yourself over the years. Well done.