If you wonder what she is to you

in the June stickiness, amid the stink of gloves
blood and mouse droppings behind the mats
where the radio shouts words of humpin’ and grindin’
the image that makes your mouth spread into
something like a smile when the big toothless
can collecting Broadway man asks,
whatcho thinkin ‘bout, fighter girl?

roadside, pulled over for some shut eye
at midnight, after starving all day and fighting
just for that high you get when you’ve beaten
an eatin’ kind of girl, when the eyelids
thank you for not being blackened
and curse you for not letting them close
the laugh you hear when you succomb

under a single sheet, used for comfort not warmth
on that couch you’ve been surfing on the last 4 days
shaking and teeth grinding as you cuss yourself
just before you jump up, grab the keys and go
into one a.m. to meet demons and make purchases
you lie about and mistake for errands, it’s
the voice you hear saying damn, love yourself
the way I do