Raised to fight

 

He looked like a fox
torn apart by the hunt,
eyes resigned.
The bell sounded with a roar
a slavering gnash of jaws
set him loose once more.

Glassed in a bar fight
his cheek doesn't sit quite right,
a fist that can find its way through walls
collecting money on market stalls.

They like to bet
on a trader that isn't able to pay.
A garden spade scrapes his toes away,
the meat gets fed to the dogs.