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.