Mighty in Dreams

He hit her today like before,

but unlike before,

today went south.


She slammed her fist into his face like Muhammed Ali,

and before he could digest the punch,

she aimed for his belly

and delivered the blow that stole his breath.


He crouched,

then rose, red-eyed,

ready to charge like a vexed bull.


But she pulled her feet back

and flung them into the air

whoop

they landed between his legs.


He stood still,

mouth wide, eyes open,

like a paused scene

but this movie just began.


Tearing his shirt,

she hit again and again,

her fists landing like the pestle for pounded yam

and his tummy was the yam.


But just when she was about to stuff sand into his mouth

as the final show of victory,

someone slapped her from behind.

She jumped off him,

landing on her room floor.


That was the day she knew

she was mighty in dreams.


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