The Sweet Scientist

First, keep my distance.
Use arm length to my advantage.
Bob and weave until my
opponent sputters and wheezes
for air, now too tired to taunt,
a diesel engine running on fumes.

Next, wait for them to make the first

move and justify my actions with a
“didn’t start, but finished” mantra,   
then strike with the ferocity of a
151 pound muscle machine bent
on nothing less than the enemy kneeling
at my feet, acknowledging my
place at the head of this kingdom.

Make sure to connect with a
well placed left hook to the
temple and watch with
satisfaction as she falls to the
ground like a stringed puppet
being loosed from the master,
slowly sinking into a silent
shroud of unconsciousness.

Last, make some off hand
remark about her hapless appearance,

my final jab, then leave her lying
on the floor and continue
to train for a fight that I’ll
actually be compensated for.
Rinse and repeat until buried

Die one of the richest men on the

planet despised and forgotten.
“Once I’m in the Square circle,
I’m in my home,” until my
home becomes my grave.