Station Cafe
The hoods over his eyes
& the bags under them
Mark the fifteen rounds
He has done with 30 years
For 29 he fought viciously
Tooth and nail, tearing life
From a deadly series of
Young man’s conceits
The early rounds went well
With him always out on top
The happy lucre of will
Paved his way to middle rounds
But when he got his way for
Too long, all the years started
To kick his ass up & down
The biological calendar
WQueens7 
I don’t like the line “Paved his way to middle rounds.” Perhaps I’ll make it “Let him win for a few years”