Ode to Chris
The following poem is by Jeremiah Beasley
They called him “Schwinn”
His name was Chris but he
But he preferred the other
The kind of guy that
When he dies
His name will definitely
Be writ on water
He’d prefer it that way
Luck with women?
Hell no
Schwinn wouldn’t know a
Good thing if it hit him
In the ass
Had one once!
A girl, nice ass
Left him on a cold
Wet morning
I believe it was Christmas
He preferred it that way
After that…nothing
A few prostitutes here
And there. One of them
A drag queen. They talked
Then fucked. He always said
There was nothing wrong with
Experimenting
He stayed with his mom
Until
She killed herself and then
Stayed here and there.
No stranger to the rain
The guys in the motel found
Him 11 days after
He had died in his
Underwear. A box of
Saltines and a bottle of
Scotch by his body. He
Would have preferred it that way.
They called him “Schwinn”
His name was Chris but he
But he preferred the other
The kind of guy that
When he dies
His name will definitely
Be writ on water
He’d prefer it that way
Luck with women?
Hell no
Schwinn wouldn’t know a
Good thing if it hit him
In the ass
Had one once!
A girl, nice ass
Left him on a cold
Wet morning
I believe it was Christmas
He preferred it that way
After that…nothing
A few prostitutes here
And there. One of them
A drag queen. They talked
Then fucked. He always said
There was nothing wrong with
Experimenting
He stayed with his mom
Until
She killed herself and then
Stayed here and there.
No stranger to the rain
The guys in the motel found
Him 11 days after
He had died in his
Underwear. A box of
Saltines and a bottle of
Scotch by his body. He
Would have preferred it that way.