mouthpiece

we never boiled the mouthpiece.
instead, the rubber jutted out from my lips.
a flash of blue whale. i put on my gloves.
two red planets. then my helmet.
we all smelled like teeth in the neon lights
of the strip mall dojo.
bare feet in the thick afternoon. 
i wanted to love fighting but i don't think
i ever did. i raise my gloves. waited for
the match to start. my father, bouncing
his knee from where he sat in a white 
plastic folding chair. i swallowed spit.
adjusted the ill-fitting mouthpiece.
i don't think i was meant to be a fighter
but in the heat of the match i could 
peel the world away like the lobes of 
an orange. find a fury & follow it.
the huge mirrors that hung on the wall
made twins of our fights. sometimes 
i would look at myself. i loved
seeming like a boy. i had my hair short.
the beast in my mouth. when i landed
a punch or a kick i always broke focus,
glanced to see if my father was watching.
he was. he always was. once a boy hit me
right in the mouth. the mouthpiece
came out. wet on the floor. i'd bitten my tongue.
taste of metal. blood on the blue mats.
i put the mouthpiece back in. kept fighting.
ended up winning somehow. we fought 
with points, counted by 
however many hits you could land.
afterward i went to the bathroom. 
a single stall with a flickering light. 
i opened my mouth. my teeth were each
framed red. my tongue, a river. 
i waited until it stopped to go back.
my dad was there. a whale in his mouth too.
he told me, "you got him. you got him
so good." i don't know what i felt. maybe
tired & proud & like the person who fought
was not me at all but a creature made of 
gloves & pads & a bulky helmet. 
i put my mouthpiece away in its case.