Terry D. Sutherland

DORA

Dora was a feisty lass
She stood four foot eight
The top of her fighting class
She was a welterweight

She’d won every contest
That she ever fought
Her opponents, she confessed,
Were a scrawny lot

One day Dora met her match
When a girl of twenty two
Caught her as she tried to scratch
An itch down by her shoe

One right handed upper cut
Put her to the mat
A couple bounces on her butt
Then she laid out flat

No championship for Dora now
No fancy belt of gold
She has a cut above her brow
And a swollen bulbous nose