Poetry · The Salt Mine

The Salt Mine: Kick Out At One

There is fear here, amidst the smell of
too many people, drink, sweat, the roar of chatter.
We don’t know what is to come,
We have faced opponents like this before,
But these faces are new.
We know what they are capable of.
Our world is the ring
the borders our ropes;
though we may leave, we are always called back
as the fight takes place inside,
and every place we go, we make it ours.

We will not go quietly;
we will not lie down for them,
we will kick out at one,
disrespect their attempts to hold us.
When their fists swing, we will catch them,
and throw back our own, harder, stronger,
our words will be scathing,
the chants mocking and derisive,
the crowd is on our side and we will be victorious.

They hold the strap,
the gold, the prize, the power,
so they think that they call the spots but
we have been fighting back as long as we can remember,
and we are not about to stop
for some people clad in the colours of a team we beat years ago,
holding onto a time
when they were over.

As a stable, we are many, and hard working,
(and outside interference is encouraged)
because we have to even the odds in any way we can.
I will take your hands, and we will stand together;
while they try to tangle us in the ropes
we will pry ourselves free and pin them down.
We will armbar the fascists, we will tear down their defences,
they will not reach the ropes.
They will tap out.

All we have to do is keep fighting
and know that when the bell rings
our hands will be raised
in triumph, and not a plea.

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