Tuesday, February 19, 2013


For Olrando Cruz 

He was a delicate boy dainty as the stem of a carnation.
An eater of fairy cakes and banana bread.
An attender of Yoga classes, weekly bending and stretching
the Ashtanga Sun Salutations.

He could pirouette as smooth as Billy Elliot.
He read the poetry of Shakespeare
and Dickinson. He quenched the thirst
and trimmed the foliage of countless houseplants.

In the ring though, he'd cave your face in wide as Fingal's Cave,
bring out a flock of bluebirds singing and spinning into concussion.
A proud man, nineteen wins one draw two defeats.
Knocks out teeth round after around.  


Jim Murdoch said...

I like this one well enough but I found myself reading it in a Scottish accent—which you no doubt read it in when on stage—but what about on the page? I wonder if it might not be improved by writing in dialect. Just a thought.

Anonymous said...

Colin, your voice is clear as a bell in this. I can even hear you pronounce the words. Ace. James.

McGuire said...

Thanks James.

Glad to have you reading.
Do I know you?

Keep up the sharp eye.