I’ve been known to occasionally say,
“He needs a punch in the face.”
It’s usually just a general observation,
perhaps regarding a General (once, I think)
or a senator or a president or
maybe just that guy who is always “that way.”
Whomever I’m with at the time looks aghast,
aware of my Tae Kwon Do,
my Courtesy and Integrity and Self-Control,
and says something like,
“I’m sure you could do that well,”
unsure what else to say.
I’ve never been punched in the face, nor punched anyone there,
nor anywhere, for real, at least, as opposed to play.
There have been a few errant fists in training:
“Ooops, I’m sorry, “ I hear, or I say,
and the shiner exclaims, “At least they’ll be a story to tell someday!”
I have been kicked, too,
ten thousand times, I imagine,
and have kicked others:
the breath gone, or ribs bruised,
or a Weeble to the head
that made me Wobble but not fall down.
And the sword . . .
A bamboo whack above the protective shell,
the purple welt under the arm,
or the wooden hornet-sting on the wrist,
or the “thank god for armor” thrust to the throat,
that stops you in your tracks, head snapped back.
Fists of stone can break your bones, but words?
They are much safer to throw, you know;
at least a far as the law is concerned.
Sling what you will but don’t throw a kick!
Have you felt the word that left a bruise,
or broke a bone, not for real, but the other kind?
Have you thrown a phrase that stopped a heart or crushed a soul?
Deliberate or stray, there’s always a story to tell.
What about a kick to the gut,
when what happened took the wind right out of you,
or made your head spin, or dropped you cold?
And, you know, an attack to the back is against the rules,
yet people get away with it all the time. Have you?
The ninja might be the most deadly of all.
Invisible, absent,
silent and still,
yet day by day, nick by nick,
their dagger brings death by seventy-times-seven cuts.
Even a cowardly ninja can simply suppress sustenance
for body and soul,
since it’s always easier to defeat a weakened enemy,
or just kill them through attrition.
Was it Bruce Lee, or maybe Gandhi, who asked,
“When is a punch not a punch,
a kick not a kick,
a cut not a cut?”
Maybe when it’s from the true Warrior,
open hearted,
who stands in front,
hands at sides,
exposed.
An Unlikely Master 
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