Just back from his first professional fight

he flicked through the book of tattoos

and said he’d taken a kicking but made

enough money to last the month.

The crowd loved an underdog

and he felt he could make a success

of being out of his league.

The tattoo he chose surprised me

and as I set to with the needle

he chatted about the scrap yard

where he worked and how last year

a car had been dragged in

with blood on the glass and when

he got laughed at for crying

he hit back so hard he almost

broke his mate’s jaw. To combat

that anger he started kickboxing

and said it took him back

to ducking and diving as his dad

tried to give him a slap for doing

absolutely nothing wrong.

I wiped down the fine lines

I’d traced on his bruised back

then he turned to look in the mirror

and smiled at the peaceful scene

of dragonflies in the reeds

beside a sunlit stream.