Hanging on the Rim (pt. 2)

Another excerpt from Hanging on the Rim, a soon-to-be published epic poem about existentialism and sports:

...

Hanging on the rim

I speak with the Gods

They see their favorite son and say,

“Chimi, how’s it goin’?”

Hanging on the rim

You might see a banshee

Or you might see an angel

It is hard to tell the difference, sometimes

Hanging on the rim

I never flinch at banshees

They get in my face

They rarely touch it though!

Hanging on the rim

I recall life on the farm before the war

It was a simpler time with early mornings

and long evenings of Champ’s folk songs

Hanging on the rim

Champ, my older brother

In charge of the stables

The H to my M

Hanging on the rim

I can still see the room in the Thai hotel

And Champ covered in blood and mumbling

Something about a stolen organ.

Hanging on the rim

I wish I had a shirt gun

Because I could shoot the shirt pretty far

I think, from the rim.

...