Round 7

 

 

“Former world bantamweight champion Ruben Olivares of Mexico ruined

the perfect record of local featherweight hero Bobby Chacon, scoring a 9th

round knockout.”  -Associated Press, June, 1973

 

 

On the mornings you’re home,

you read the newspaper over coffee.

That’s what men do. The National League won

the All-Star game in Kansas City. Germans bought

a chemical plant in Wyandotte, Michigan.

An officer in Dallas played Russian roulette

in the front seat of a police cruiser with his .357 Magnum

& a 12-year-old boy—Santos Rodriguez.

His older brother, David, sat hand-cuffed in the backseat.

Under the headline, a photo of the boys

standing in front of a shiny car taken months before

the boy became a headline. They’re beautiful

& smiling, & you think of the picture in the paper

from the morning before your fight

with Olivares—the two of you black-haired

& tan-skinned with your Mexican

surnames in bold letters overhead. You could be brothers

even in the ring where he strafed you with a straight right

to the chin so hard you fell to your knees. He beat you

unmercifully. Ponce threw in the towel between rounds

& your undefeated record gone. It’s true that brothers fight

& sometimes they bleed. You read that the boys

were taken from their beds, accused of stealing

Cokes from a vending machine. The officer jumped

out of the car after the single shot hit Santos’ head.

David told reporters his baby brother’s last words:

I am telling the truth & how he reached with his body

yelling you’re gonna be alright as blood pooled

on the car floor until both of their feet were soaked.