ELEPHANTS AND PUGILISTS

There are all manners
of signs
given to hulking beasts
whether the ring is canvassed
and squared, round,
rectangular,
or borderless.
Yet one thing is certain:
feelings precede
(and might even predict)
intelligence.
We might not know,
but our bones do.

Our stage
could be a stage,
or letters
in our fingers
or on a keypad;
it could be notes
that settle
in the flesh
of our inner
or outer
ear that turns
away from us
before we are able
to sing it.
We,
of a certain intelligence
disbelieve and fight
against it,
hoping the opening
will once again assert
and present itself.
We remember
how we danced,
of a certain grace,
able to jab
with precision,
hook and right cross
at will, stayed on our toes
for the full fifteen rounds
and took punches
that no man
had a right to take
and still stand.

Now
we know
what we want to do,
but can't.
A beat slow.
It comes to each
at a different time
and at a different speed,
but it comes
always
all the time.
You fight it,
of course.
Better, I think
to be like the majestic elephant:
a bone feeling
and a walk
to the graveyard
together.
They know
and do not look
unhappy. It's simply
part of it.
They do not want
to make a mess
or feel embarrassed.
If I could,
I'd attach my hand
to one of their tails
and go with them.
Unlike most humans
they have
class.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2012