by paul f renda
Yet so futile
How did it at the start???
How does it ever stop??
One dising another
Two young gladiators
Choreographed in a sinuous dance of death
In an arena of asphalt and concrete
On a dead-end Brooklyn street
Skin gleaming in the early morning sun
Blades alternately blinding and shining in the sun
Gladiators turning encircling keeping our eyes on the eyes and eyes on the blade
Young energy so directed, yet so futile
A lunge and a stab
A lunge and a stab
Each step so measured, yet so futile
Crowd howling in the delight of the gladiators do the dance
But then a lunge, a stab, a connection
Crowd hushed in awe
A bright crimson bubble emerges from the nostrils of a gladiator
He falls
The dance has ended.
(Note: if you want to meet the author of this article he performs with others at the Bodega monthly poetry and short story reading, on the first Sunday of every month. 24 ST Nicholas Ave., Brooklyn New York)