Poem by Phil Geronimo

Willian in Chelsea Blue

How hard was it to live
In that tanned leathered skin you wore as a defense
Against the power of the hauntings in your head
The pints of Importer’s vodka you would hide and ingest
The hours you spent watching the same sit-coms
The tranquility of their perpetuity
The endless cycle of their safety
An escape from the pain that was never to be named
A war of scarred pasts that could never be won
Your flooding the house with the toilet
Bouncing your head off the wall in a blackout
Enduring the soul’s escape
The dark sentence of the ghost’s plague
The unknown names in a file of hate
And now, you are no longer my condemnation
You are no longer singing the praises of English League football
Willian breaking open in the midfield to feed Costa
Like the Latter Day Saints feeding us in our lean days
How you fell back into the warmth of their spirit
Into the arms of their natural calm
As they helped carry you across the Great River
Into the final solace of God