OPTIONAL POETRY

I called both fights, the Armenian, then Adams, the latter spelling out his bad intentions with a nasty right hook, the former, though rusty, knowing every trick in the book. Oh, age. I could be proud that I’m never surprised but I’d trade it all for something unpredictable for once, not just Friday nights in sweats, texting my dad about the fights— I think this guy will win, and then he does. What did Teddy […]