Daddy boxer.

If a fist will lead to me being seen,
Or at best, heard, 
Then the first finger of the five is a trick,
A lie, or something else
Of a different nature. A surprise.

And the second is just as nice, with a thick
Layer of sheen to hide the knuckles. A nail,
Brought to a claw with a file. Easy to slice
a growing lady's skin, and the pain,
oh, it sticks and it bites. 

The third is new, or worse, something entirely
inbetween. As a single digit, it stands as mean, but
with his partners he packs quite the punch;
Quite the team, yes,
Quite the bunch.

Now the forth and fifth - quite overlooked -
still hold their place in line. 
Still lend their skills to the right hook,
and it's just fine without them, when one is too slow
For the blow, and is sloppily left 
Only able to use the frontline.

It's fine; 
I just know he'll get better with time.