Josh Adamski

 

 

Needling of jabs, riddle of ducks and feints,
you wait for a clear target.

It comes, as brief as a spark plug's discharge,
as a flash of knicker. You unload

from the pivoting toes of the back leg,
extend through knee, hip, ribs, shoulder, elbow – 

you are industrial, a piston, oiled
metal pain. Misjudge

and your attack could be countered,
your nose smacked ice pack absent numb,

worse, your blow could absorb like melt water
into the padding of your opponent's gloves.

-Angela Cleland

His Saatchi site

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