Took the Hits, Still Here (a poem)

Tuesday, March 11, 2025

I don’t feel sorry for myself, makes me drown faster.

Segovia, up the west side of the castle eating quail,
just before we hit the gypsy camp,
to preach Jesus—what are we selling here anyway?

España, viva, Real Madrid, champions,
got natives kissing my jersey, what a time to be alive.
The world an oyster, narrow vision,
and I was committed, like you read about.

Wild this, a wonder world, the chemistry, the cosmos,
rollercoaster, out the other end
right in the middle of genius, brilliance, evaporated—
too far, tipped over, oh no, not again.

Daddy, wake up, 911, on the floor,
med kit and then I hit my head and passed out,
woke up—who?
I didn’t.
Wish I did.

Nothing changes.

Now my spirit torments, comforts, encourages,
haunts my family.
Respect cuz, I feel you,
we loved the Hawks and a good meal,
boxing in the basement, sparring with greatness.

The world you made, in such a short time,
what a tapestry, the imprint, a presence,
a ghost I welcome into my home anytime.

We keep spinning,
and you stepped out of that—
the madness, the wrestle, and claw up the hill,
the motto of go-go, people to do,
always reaching for more.

Have you ever sat in the perfect chair for an hour,
and recharged, like it was an eternity?
A tweak of chemistry to see God—
you wanna judge?

All bitter, hurting inside,
dagger eyes, sharp tongues.

I’ve been watching you blow things up since I was 10.

Grab the gloves, put up those hands now,
oh yeah, good thing I can take a hit,
that empathy might’ve knocked me down long ago.

You were so tough, a scrapper from the beginning,
we were fighting for our lives way back then.

No rest,
keep yelling at us from the dark corner of the universe
you were ejected to,
don’t let us up till we make you proud.