by Robert Rothman
Before the Be, there is the Do, the messypassage into the calamities, that weatherof disasters and amities so opaque you can’tsee through. No complaints, tears, laments, please. Arjuna tried that too, until Krishna put him right—smack in the middle of the fight, no way out, no exit but bloody through. Who did you think? It would be you? Excepted and exceptional? Boo-hoo. It’s a birthday cake. The candles are all lit, coming straight for you. Take a deep breath. Make your wish. Call it proprius locusvenued in the Big Ring of you. This is all true, the Kurus have view. Take a look around. How many are watching the round after round of you and you. You do count until not, the knockdowns and bruises, split lip and missing teeth, Shiners beautifyyou, a fighter’s face, cauliflower ears, falleneyelids. No plastic surgeon, no plastic, it’s beenbeaten out of you. It’s up to you to stay on your feet. Feeling wobbly, rubber-legged afterthat last punch, in there with you. Was a doozy. Was a knockout blow but no. You are up and at them. Still ready for the go.