The recent posts about digging for Irish roots in the Acre and Hollywood gossip about the Ward movie “The Fighter” reminded me of Tom Sexton’s poem from his book “A Clock With No Hands.”—PM
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Lowell’s Irish Micky Ward
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Round 2. Ward’s left eye is already cut,
but he keeps moving toward Arturo Gatti.
My wife’s gone to bed and turned out the light.
Gatti’s left hook sounds like a thunderclap.
I haven’t watched a fight in many years,
not since I moved away from Lowell.
A Celtic Cross glistens on Ward’s shoulder.
I wince as he shakes off blow after blow.
He has my uncle Leo’s fighter’s face,
with features almost as flat as a stone.
Staggered by a right, he picks up the pace.
I want to see a hurt Gatti go down.
They fight to a draw. Closed eye for closed eye.
I go to bed shamefaced and stubbornly tribal.
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—Tom Sexton (c) 2007
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Web photo courtesy of espncdn.com
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