Into the Fray

by Robert Rothman

Before the Be, there is the Do, the messy

passage into the calamities, that weather

of disasters and amities so opaque you can’t

see 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 locus

venued 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 beautify

you, a fighter’s face, cauliflower ears, fallen

eyelids. No plastic surgeon, no plastic, it’s been

beaten out of you. It’s up to you to stay on your

feet. Feeling wobbly, rubber-legged after

that 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.