Contusion

I saw your coward’s blow.

Leaden arm and fist, your New Year’s gift;
blunt knuckles thrown in profile…
Your favoured approach, my usual blindside.

The mirror shattered, like my disbelief;
after all, if my reflection
was bleeding, why shouldn’t I?

Thud for muffled thud; the sound of
a basketball’s well-timed bounce…

With your forearm across my cheek;
your left hand clawing at my mouth.

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