Some days are quitting days.
The hits come relentlessly, like 3-inch hail balls on a rebranded Jaguar.
I wanted to give up, up, up.
But the times I stayed in the ring paid off.
The blows I took, the nights I lay KO’ed on the mat—
they left a set point.
Something to outlast.
A bar that keeps inching higher,
and somehow, I keep going with it.
Because I stay the course.
Feel the darkness kiss my skin and pray for daylight.
I rub my hands together like a wish,
summoning something raw from deep inside.
I fight off the naysayers and their lit torches,
and promise one last Hail Mary—
that didn’t need to be thrown.
They relented.
Put down their swords.
Asked for peace.
Promised retribution.
And tonight, for once,
we will all sleep well again.
Love, me
Going On 40 