Stung

About Chris Benoit

Stung

You pro-wrestling
Anti-son
Bum.
You huckster
No Hulkster.
All your life an actor.
How I admired your in-ring frog flops
Somersaults
And open-handed chops
But not the last stop
The death shack you stuck
On every fanatic fan's tracks.
A sting figures in
A little Benoit engine
Putt-putting its poisons
Into my skin.
The foot swollen.
I was just a kid.
Big bee.
Sonofab --
On the top rope
With a skull full of dope.
Always on the road
But always the real star of the show
Was your blown-up ego.
Sometimes you got actual blows to the head.
Once you got a broken neck
But got back up nonetheless.
It was impressive.
So a bee unzipped its guts in me.
You had an Olympic athlete's passion for performing
And were the undisputed best at what you did
And then you went and killed your kid.
In hell you wrestle Satan, Chris
And always get pinned.