“Let me give you some advice”

flats and boxing 087.

Let me give you some advice, they say,
or we say, but when you’re losing,
no advice finds that handhold on
your brain, all the possibles
look grim. Then the sad cliches
march out, futures so feeble
they slip and fall on the tongue.
“Fight another day” and “learning
from defeat” and “next year.”
Somewhere behind the face of
“Okay,” everything is crying
and there’s no crevice for
advice to root in. We want
not victory, but a peephole
into fate. But we can’t have
that, and can’t give it either.

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