Erie Fighters

They come to the beach in their search of a champion’s belt;
the summer sun burns on the sand in the Buckeye snow-belt.
When winter winds blow, often Lake Erie bitters with freeze;
but with the heat on, the fighters arrive,
all set to bring foes to their knees.

We travel two hours to witness the ultimate fight;
and when we arrive we behold a true media sight.
For cameras and vans and reporters seek battle again;
there on the beach with the fight-ring set up,
a milieu for ESPN.

We walk through the sand and bump elbows with brown, white and black;
and there by the ring mills a throng eager for an attack.
Behind us a flurry that signals a combative bunch;
coming to start this beach battle event,
a sporting event with a punch.

The crowd roars again as the entrees climb into the ring;
the waves lap the shore as some seagulls halfheartedly sing.
then off in the distance an ore ship steams west to Duluth;
we fix our gaze beneath the blazing sun,
ready to comprehend the truth.

Excitement pours out as the fighters engage foot and fist;
the wind offers strength to the waves so we harbor the mist.
Humanity’s weight on the shore turns the sand into mud;
surreal this scene of fighting on the shore,
and eerie the faces in blood.


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