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The big fight.

The park, Four o'clock, We'll settle it then, Were the words that lashingly leaped from my lips. The park ... that old but familiar theater of thunderous throw downs. I remember when Motorhead beat-up Tony there, But today was my day, four o'clock was the proposed time. That gave everybody in the neighborhood enough time to finish watching Tom & Jerry.

3:50 pm ... My brother told me to start stretching, I guess I better. As I loosened my lazy limbs, Muhammad Ali lingered in my memory: "Float like a butterfly, Sting like a bee," The first one to get these fists ain't gonna be able to see, And that was my battle cry as I jumped on the back of my brother's bike, and he pedaled me on a pilgrimage to the place of the big fight.

Now when I arrived, the chaotic crowd was under an oath of silence. Anxious to see a scuffle, and eager to see some violence. So as I barbarically bounced off the back of that bike with my fists in the air, and my arms electrified with energy shooting sparks everywhere, I thought to myself ... Why were we fighting? Oh yeah, he sat in the seat that I always sit in on the bus. But anyway, this delay wasn't gonna distract me from my main aim - DESTRUCTION. A s we carefully closed our distances And entered the forum of fisticuffs, The verbal battle royal bell rang - "Get Him." Fist, foot, kick, leg, arm, neck, back, head, Pull, grab, roll push, bite, punch, grass, dust, Left ... right ... left ... left. ..

I guess it was a tie. My brother said both of us had our eyes closed.
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Title Annotation:Section 3: Sayings, Sermons, Tall Tales, and Lies - Contemporary Black Poetry; poem
Author:Lewis, Brad
Publication:African American Review
Date:Mar 22, 1993
Words:279
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