An Ode to Chow Yun Fat

He's the Chinese Steve McQueen,
Pirouetting 'round bullets on my screen,
A concerned hitman,
A gun in each hand,
He washes his tortured soul clean.

He looks real cool in a suit and tie,
Maintaining panache as bullets fly,
He takes a deep breath,
As he's sized up by death,
And that badass spits right in its eye.


...
i wrote that when i was 17. for AP English. in High School. it's one of four or five poems i wrote for that class (including Haiku). the class that made me decide to start writing poetry. the class that made me want to be a poet. the other three that i can remember were about a break-up, with the death of blues legend Junior Wells as a backdrop, and my trombone - both sonnets (elizabethan and petrarchan), and a technopagnia about man's relationship with religion (in the shape of the Crucifixion).
one day, i will find and post the first poem i remember ever writing (i was 8-years-old and it was about Halloween).

thanks to Eneasz Brodski for randomly posting this thing on my facebook wall immediately after i updated with the "Under the Starzzzzz" piece. strange, indeed.

-andy