When I least expect it, Beauty fells me with a roundhouse right, pummels me with soft fists, dazzles me with her quick feet. Sometimes it’s a glancing blow to the chin; sometimes she doubles me up by a quick swing to the solar plexus. Right, left, right, left – she dances me round and round the ring until I lose my breath and leaves me dangling in my corner, dazed and gasping. She often holds me in a clinch, face to face, with nothing more to say.
To some Beauty is just another word, but in bouts with me she’s always the champ, always the champ.
ABOUT ELEPHANTS 