B. C. Straight

Sigh….

As the clock ticked,
I tossed and kicked
On my cold bed
Knowing the worse of the bad
Is heading my way.
Thus I began to pray
To the God of life,
Conqueror of strife.
I know
That my fingers are not a show
‘Cuz Christ is His name
He taught me the football game.

That whole morning,
I went into mourning.
I did not cry,
Although I try,
‘Cuz I listened to tunes,
And read about Corrie Ten Boom.
Church History
Was another story.
ACT is awaiting me,
So I did not play S’me
Instead I prepare
And compare.

I thought of going back to sleep
But Janiece slipped
In asked me, “Are you ready?”
I relied, “As always mommy.”
It was ten o’ clock something
As we got ready our everything
And got in the car
Was our next steps so far
We drove in the sun
Just like running into God’s only Son.
When we parked
Not an animal barked.

We walked into the back door,
But discovered that we were on the wrong floor.
So we turned around,
And got me bound
Onto a chair
That had no stairs.
First I changed into a gown
That made me look like a clown.
They gave me IV
‘Cuz I’m skinny.
They also served
Me Ancef

After a few minute
I was hit
And had to sit up
‘Cuz I had to throw up
Ancef
Is not going to be my chef.
As the minute passed,
I was asked about my past.
How long I’ve been here
A month or a year?
There were three people in all
In my surgery hall.

Jonathan was the excellent surgeon.
Full of grace like a pigeon.
My anesthesiologist was the taller one;
However, Marcia, the nurse, was the cuter one
This is what I remember
On this noon of October,
My Anesthesiologist plays basketball
That is all!
Actually he said something,
But I remember nothing.
‘Cuz I slipped

Into a deep sleep

The second I regained conscience,

My head fall straight to my chest.

Than right back to the pillow

Color white as snow

The next thing I saw was nurse Sandy,

Who helped me get ready,

But first she unhooked me from the can-u-la

In which I responded with an ah!!!

She asked me what I wanted to drink

It took me several seconds to finally think

I chose apple juice

‘Cuz water and pop is not water

I was glad the juice was re-fillable

‘Cuz my stomach was un-controlable

At that time, I felt really weak,

The fact is, it lasted over me for a week.

I no longer looked like a clown

After I took off the surgery gown.

And put on my Adidas shirt

That smelled better than dirt

I also had on a short

‘Cuz I am short

I was wheeled out to the car

That Janiece parked not so far

I couldn’t feel my hand

As the car’s door was shut by another man

I was so drugged out

As a matter of fact, I passed out

After a couple minutes of driving

I went back to sleeping

But was startled to awake

Whenevr Janiece applied the brake

When I got home,

I went straight to my room

For the rest of the afternoon, I slipped

Back into another deep sleep

By the time I woke up, it was seven o’ clock

My mind was still in lock

Alison Murri said, “Hi Bora!”

I looked at her and said eh?

I was not in mourning.

(hahaha…sorry I had to laugh

I am not that tough)

We had something for dinner,

Served in a container

To be quite honest with you, dude,

It was really good food.

That very same night

Surprisingly, I slept really tight

—by: Bora P.C.

Thursday, October 11^th, 2007

Ever since I’ve had beans,
I’ve always been,
Not only sharp with my thinking;
But competitive when come to sporting.
That night,
I did not sleep tight.
As we carried our conversations
Because we, FALCONS, lost our competition;
Not only in football,
But our very individual battle.
I thought and thought
Why did I bought
Into this competition?
To what is my destruction.
I thought of quitting,
But I went into fasting
And was reminded of Romans 8:28,
That all things happen for a reason;
Of course, in different season.
So I stuck around
And surround
Myself with more hitting.
As I took on the beating
I realized that it was not hurting.
So I begin my hard hitting
With passion
And compassion.
I started beating
Whoever I’m facing.
As our lost passes by,
I never really say good bye
So I begin to pray,
And learn my plays.
I finally got it down,
But than I went down
And broke my pinky
Without ever tasting whisky.
With a single bound,
My fingers is no longer round.
I also dislocated my ring finger,
Which is what I’ll remember.
That playing football
Does involve fingers,
Unlike soccer,
Unless you are a goal keeper.
I’m going in for a surgery
Where doctors will fix my injury.
Black Thursday
Will be my surgery day.
I’m done with football,
But I’ve won my battle
Because I gave my all.
I’m done, not because I quit,
But because of first day kit
Oh, coach, I’ve never dream
Of playing football on a team
I’m sorry that we did not win
(On the score board)
But you’ve taught me to keep up my chin
That is the reason why I’m on the team
For that was your calling
Don’t you think?

—by: Bora P. C.
Sunday, October 07, 2007

Who I Thought Was Black

His first word I remember

On that night of September:

“Preach the gospel, if necessary use words,”

Said by saint Francis of Assisi.

So I thought to myself:

“Blake does not think about himself.”

Because that night he cocked,

Way better than any books,

Can instruct one, trying to become a cock.

We

Ali, Sammy, and me

Are all I can re-call

Eating on that table

The best Mexican food of them all.

I’m not a big fan of Mexican good,

But Blake—the dude,

Revolutionized and Mexicanized me on that day

After we pray

I’m thinking, I’m thinking…

…It was not only his cocking,

But was his very being.

I came to find out later

That he is not only a builder,

But a mathematician,

And…a physicistian;

Of course, Englishian.

Those subjects are what I’m struggling with,

But every time Blake shows his teeth;

He create in me a cease to stop crying.

Even Mag ceases her barking

As Blake was seeking

A way that he could better his talking

I sat and sighed

With tears inside,

As the clock ticked by

I realized why should I cry.

Since I have Blake by my side,

Who always think deep inside

            —by: Bora P.C.

                Sunday, October 07, 2007

Stepping into Sam’s car

Is all I can re-call so far.

As the door was opened,

I stepped in.

And there they were—

The Murri.

Cooking and cleaning

Was their calling.

My tour guide was Sam.

I met Ali and his mom.

Including Blake,

Who I thought was black.

So begin our conversations,

As I was being questioned.

The topic was:

What do I like

And what do I dislike.

Of course, my response was food,

Always been since childhood

It went from books I’ve read

To cooking I’ve had.

As the night flew by

We said good bye.

But first Sam and I

Exchanged our glances of eye

As we carried

My what to be

Dresser

For the year.

I almost teared

As Alison summed up

The whole situation:

“Bora, I’m so glad that you are here.”

My eyes were filled with tears

But I hided and said:

“I’m glad to be here too.”

Thank you!

—by: Bora  P. C.

Sunday, October 07, 2007