when we delinquents sported
pairs of brittle balls on strings
Huh? Say what?
This is the why
we all lived for Clackers®
and the raucous, rhythmic knocks
our duking skills engendered:
Clack Clack, Clack Clack
A Clacker® ball of polyester
resin popped and split
my eye and Tommy Jones'
He'd nearly tied the record of
a nostril cut half off
another broken record champ
who'd won three quartered ears;
not to mention hairline fractures
and some ancillary scalpings.
Oh, those Clackers® in recall
soon increased in street value,
because the final sets had sold.
Then all we had were chippers:
flint-eyed rocks on ropes—
no fight left in the clockers,
not even knocking rights.
Sad, the wind down of our boxers
—though it had been quite an era.
the peerage points won in our matches
didn't compensate the laughter
so many surgeons snapped off when
they had us all in stitches.