"Grip" by Jericho Brown (2008)

If it had become a competition in which we,

Like children desperate for the blue ribbon,

Pulled knotted hemp, gripping until certain

Of calluses, if our contest awarded the strongest,

The boy who could best inflict pain yet not 

Flinch when injured, then you won, for I must 

Imagine the brown of your back to reach my 

Peak, a short thread of breaths, a tug of war

With the heaviest child grunting at the end 

Of the rope until jerked and dragged over 

The line. That fat kid flounders through muck

The way I splash your relentless name 

In shivers about me. Watch him wallow. 

If he tastes mud as bitter as this poem

Of mine, then I win – and you love me.