everybody’s fighting.

Iran is fighting Israel.

Republicans are fighting Democrats.

the red ants are fighting the black ants.

Ali was fighting Frasier.

Ali knocked him out.

I fought Bobby Wally in grade school.

we stood face to face in the meadow.

our fists were clenched.

but we hugged instead, rolling around

the sharp meadow grass, each trying

to find a way to win the battle between

hugging grade school boys.

I got him in a headlock, the preferred

maneuver for young wrestlers.

my boney arms served as weapons

squeezing the head of Wally until

he had no choice but to quit.

we walked home, leaving the meadow

much the same way as before our arrival.

today, there’s something sitting on top

of the old meadow, I assume.

whatever is it I hope it’s worthy.

I imagine a plaque in brass alongside

its front door commemorating the “battle

of the meadow, 1953”