Once I’d wrestled with God, Satan’s suplexes
don’t break the bones they once dissected.

Of course his hellish holds don’t seem to stick,
I’ve weathered grabs six times as strict.

What good is a 3-count pin when you’ve
been down for the full 10 times 10?

What good is the bluest of my bruises,
when my skin was black from birth. Gift and curse.

My Mimi’s death broke me so much harder
than even the coldest of Stone Stunner

My death was one to be forsaken.
My tombstone is His holy undertaking.

When the lights go out, the bell dings,
I resurrect and return to the ring

His headlocks can’t break my bedrock,
when God and I are still caught in deadlock.

Sean Beatty is a writer from Raleigh, NC. He graduated from UNC-Chapel Hill where he completed an Honors Poetry Thesis. His poems have been published in Burning Jade Magazine. Follow him on Twitter @SEANW0WW.