Lounging Together
This is a fighting tournament,
But we're allowed to relax as well.
In between striving to be the best on the battlefield,
There are moments when we're allowed to be just friends,
Hanging together.
I'm so tired sometimes after my fights.
I take my shower braced against the wall,
The water as cool as possible.
I'm aching, battered, covered in bruises.
I'm fighting and sweating so hard—
Practically busting my knuckles to get it through the thick skulls
Of my opponents and the audience
That I'm not someone to be treated as a joke;
I'm a fighter and a Smasher in my own right.
My jaw is sore from clenching it so tightly,
Giving the one across from me blistering looks
So as to drive my point home.
But, no.
The peal of laughter remains,
Rippling through the sea of people
Like a tidal wave.
Laughter at the pathetic little man
In last place,
The soft flesh of a Maxim tomato
Gives beneath my face,
Chunks sliding down my cheeks, my chin,
Into my mouth—
There's the smell of the fruit
And the sting of mortification.
I swallow it down
And fight on.
But afterwards,
After soothing my wounds in the shower
And stepping into the lounge,
It doesn't hurt anymore.
I don't feel anger or pain or humiliation
Because
I'm lounging with you.
Your arm around me,
Your voice and your laughter brightening my day,
Making tomorrow all right.
You lean into me,
And I lean into you,
And I feel so safe, so protected.
We share buttery snacks
Gossip
Jokes
Clicking cassettes into the stereo,
Listening to our tunes waft through the lounge.
Sometimes, we sway to the beat.
Other times, I get up and dance
While you watch.
It doesn't matter
That I'm considered the worst Smasher.
It doesn't matter
How many people laugh at me.
It doesn't matter
How many Maxim Tomatoes are thrown at me.
It doesn't matter
How far people will go to make my life Hell.
All that matters
Is that we're here
Lounging together.
Please R&R.