XXIII

Hulking and broken, he sits and stares,
faint flashes of brilliance
invade. Muscles twitch
when he tries to make a fist.
A native son, punch drunk
and sullen, sunken into a state
no brotherly love can placate.
You hate to see him this way,
he should have quit when
he was ahead. Instead, he’s
stumbling and mumbling to himself.
“Adrienne! Adrienne!”
He came back again and again.
The twenty-second reincarnation
of the franchise, you can’t disguise
his heavily swollen eyes.
“Cut me, Mick! Ya gotta cut me!”

 

© Walter J Wojtanik, 2015

Poetic Asides With Robert Lee Brewer – Prompt #301 – Movie Poems

Movie: “ROCKY” – Sylvester Stallone

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