I Saw A Boxer On Zakynthos
Squat, like a cartoon barrel,
It pottered along the stone path;
Short, matted strands of straw hair
Sweated to a large skull,
Barely protruding from sore, hunched shoulders:
Wore tight, taut summer apparel;
Yet the face, sun-scorched, swollen, scarlet,
Devoid of whites or browns,
Bore an uncanny resemblance to a beaten, battered, befuddled
Burning Englishwoman on holiday on Zakynthos.
Reminded me of Terry Downes.