The Champion Lightweight of the World

the broken boy on the bathroom floor
fed up with his family’s fussin
downs a dose of robitussin
and crawls his way to lock the door.

he bathes in bourbon and he breathes thin gin
but he’ll take a shot
of whatever you’ve got
cause it don’t matter to him

at a table for two taken by one
his dad is relentless
for patient repentance
and the return of his prodigal son

but the broken boy needs no one else
his street-lamp meetings
and parking lot preaching
keep him content all by himself

you should see him when he’s helpless
you should see him when he’s lonely
he’ll gladly take a bump of coke
and tell you that it’s ok

he’s landlocked and bloodshot
tormented with tattoos
too feckless to afford a foe
too friendly to ignore you

if he offers you a favor
please tell him not to bother
he would make a great uncle
but a terrible father

religion is reckless
redemption is murder
he likes to keep the devil far
and God even further

when he learns he’s not a prophet
he’ll find a man much better
to gather up the broken boy
and piece him back together