In his corner, boots and trunks,
Trying to look brave,
Eyeing me both down and up
Wondering if I'll cave
To his demeaning, bullying gaze
His pecs and biceps pump
Hoping that his menacing stare
Will cause my throat to lump.
But I, though leaner, can deceive,
Good tactics I will use,
My lithe and supple, agile form
Will aid, to him abuse.
With 'pins' and 'clothesline', 'headbutt', 'kick',
And 'diving elbow drop',
Weakened by my high 'back kick'
With final 'backhand chop'.
He tries his best to rally round
To submit, he'll not yield,
The ref, though, sees his flailing arms
Decides, he must concede.
But undeterred and utt'ring threats
A rematch he insists
He leaves the ring, frustrated mood
While pumping iron fists.
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