THE WRESTLER
I slowly walk up to the mat,
Tensely glancing at my fat.
I have no muscle,
And possess no skill,
How am I to win against
Someone who seems to kill?
I bravely shoot a double leg,
Only to be crushed by Greg.
I am sprawled out on the ground,
Squashed below two-hundred pounds,
But the whistle did not sound –
Remaining there are two more rounds.
I am certainly going to die,
I shouldn’t have eaten so much pie.
I grit my teeth – I will not cry,
Looking up towards the sky,
My nose is squashed against his thigh,
But I won’t give up without a fight.
I put my right hand on his hip,
And use his fat to form a grip.
I wrap my left hand around his leg,
And hear his mother urgently beg,
“No, my son, don’t you get pinned!
You told me that you want to win!”
I drag his hips down to the ground,
And slam his thighs to turn around,
I tightly pin him on the ground,
With no space remaining to be found.
Staring at us, the judge frowned,
With the whistle, I was crowned.