Wrestling with a slaphappy donkey.

Into the sandy gym.
An exconvict teaches us the basics.
The punching bag sways in a way and the simple punch 
seems to catch the attention of the simple vagabonds.
On the side of the gym in the filth I sit watching
As the future of our betting money moves and dodges.
Some poor criminals appear out of the debree and
broken equipment offering me alcohol they´d brewed 
themselves.

My impusion to write,
I´m mystified by my own will to word and phrase.
Rhymes hurtle out of me, I´m holding the reigns of
this burro so it doesn´t prattle like gumpy.
My my... fellow poets, I would fain become a contender
if it weren´t for my interloping tone and
slaphappy donkey.
(Richard azevedo a long time colleague of mine who never ceases to inspire me has taken up the donkey challenge! Anyone else can too just leave some quirky note in the comments of this poem or richards poem the pinnochio poet to you newbies. Just write a poem about newbies I mean donkeys.)