requiem for a middleweight

slumped against
the bar room wall
her good eye
mostly swollen
shut lips puffed
out, shiners
new and old,
multi-colored
nostrils thick
with rolled
cotton. She drinks
shots of ten
high through
a straw, nine
rounds into
a championship
fight set to go
15, no matter
what the outcome
she was determined
to go all the way