Around the corner I attend a dojo
In this great city where one's born every minute.
The days go by and the weeks rush on,
And I suck daily at a higher level, yet I still don't have a shodan.
And I never see my old friend's face,
For he quit at third kyu and took up handball instead, and powder cocaine, and
Dating girls with silicone-augmented C cups and names like Marcie or Angela,
But he knows I still wish I could koshi the stuffing out of him,
As in the days when I rang his clock,
And he clocked me one back just as hard.
If we were younger then, needing less ibuprofen to take four classes a week,
And now we are busy, older, tired men and women,
Why is it I still have a white belt, and so does he, even though he quit?
If he ever stops writing screenplays for Hollywood,
I hope that he rejoins, so I can ring his clock again,
Although I kind of hope he holds off a few more years,
Until I have that goddamn black belt.