Benny Juarez, the kid in the purple trunks
from the ghettos of Chicago,
was no match for the granite strength
of Cortez, the Aztec warrior from Guadalajara,
who was poised from the first round,
to demolish his opponent.
Benny bobbed and weaved to no avail.
No amount of hooks, jabs and parries
could make a dent in Cortez’s demeaner.
The crowd roared, envying his strength.
The silent, stony face of Cortez,
a face known from another time,
spooked Benny, who kept dancing
around Cortez like a marionette
in a state of panic. When the final blow came,
poor Benny had to be mopped up off the floor of the ring.