Champion

I need a champion

Midwife type, wispy curls, grey speckled and white, turquoise sea rimmed colored glasses,

Legs and arms shot putter thick,

wearing a wide long skirt splashed in color, and Birkenstocks,

Crouching low with grunts of a wrestler to bear down, breath it out, release, and again.

help birth this baby out.

I need a champion

Dragon type, fury in the belly that springs up to the nostrils

hiss flames that snatches the wind and ignites brush fires consuming hillsides, engulfing homes, hearts of men

I need a champion

The Muhammed Ali type or new jack Deontay Wilder type large and massive, standing tall on all types of principles, explosive in charisma, dancing, slipping, diving, gliding,

Shined up, displaying,

Arms rotating in and out of themselves, circular saws, slicing at opponents

who don’t float like a butterfly or sting like a bee, reigning kings yet again

I need a champion

Fat and stout, tall and lean, hot red lipped, hand to hip,

Pushing, shoving, thrusting from idea to seat, to word leap to critique, from beta to revision, To edit

to the press of the button like a nuclear bomb exploding all over Hiroshima creating a white page mushroom

I need a champion

Key smith  to unlock doors, pop windows, crack codes,

shattering glass, in bits and pieces along the outside cause we IN

I need a champion

I remember a time when the question “why didn’t you get it done?” shook your core

“Why didn’t you get it done?” shook your core cause a whooping was coming next

from daddys there today and gone tomorrow,

Big mamas stepping in cause the train north carried mother away,

and Uncle shifty and sneaky, chomping on lies in front of a tin barrel filled with hot grease popping at Friday fish fries.

“Why didn’t you get it done?”

Huh

“Why didn’t you get it done?”

Huh

Don’t make me say it again,

“Why didn’t you get it done?”

Cause I need a champion.

©Robin Mile’ Pizzo 2016

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