Dissociative substitution

Let me write of becoming, let me write of coming into my own.
Knowing myself as Me upon the moment I crashed into the fist
Of a boy whose eye, streaked with white, had crashed into my own,
And I, suddenly wondering, how the hell did I get here?

Before that moment, my life had seamlessly played out,
And if there were moments in which I disappeared, then
I was blissfully unaware of the absence of myself in my life,
And the moments flowed one into the other uninterrupted.

But then, out of nowhere, came Now, where I knew nothing
Save the middle and the end of the event: there circling,
Fists up and jabbing when he could, Paul Boem's brother;
My fists before me, jabbing, but without anger - what is this?

I focused on his eye, that white streak cutting through the pupil.
Did I just do that, or had it been there unnoticed before the fight?
Have I maimed him? Will I bear this burden for punishment?
Yet concern for my opponent did nothing to stem his angry pursuit.

The gym class! I became wider awake and saw them surrounding us,
Shouting, cheering, egging us on without remorse or sting.
Could that I turn to any of them, ask - How, what brought us here?
But no quarter given, I took none on my own, but fought - why?

Interruption came, worse than the mystery of the fight itself:
Coach Clary came back & screamed at us both, frozen tableau:
The human ring and the punchy fighters alike - caught in ageless
Male antagonism, with no other outlet but slugging one another.

Camaraderie in enemies' glance, we silently pledged silence.
The Board, already familiar, landed soon enough, never a tear or sound;
I may not have known why this particular fight was going on,
But damn the old man if he would get his satisfaction.

Neither of us would admit to provocation or defense, nor
Any cause for the battle, yet I was cheated by our pact:
Steve stayed silent for his own self-satisfied sense, so
I did not learn why we were tearing at each other.

After that, I could never bring myself to ask anyone else;
Crazy enough not to know, without admitting it to someone else.
Still, to this day, I hold uncanny feeling Someone had been there,
And, ducking out, left me to handle the beating He deserved.

LMC 1Nov2010 (1963)