HAWKFALL
an elegy for Road Warrior Hawk
C Ra Mcguirt
Black chords hit like the hammer of Thor
(I AM IRON MAN!)
out in the midst of the flatland where
my bad guy Brother lives, and I
was visiting, and believed once again
in the terrible strength and savagery
of the Hawk Headed One and his sibling the Beast
defeatable but never easily
and not to be beaten tonight by these
midcard boys who did their best
to look like they had a slight chance to get over.
All 300 hairy pounds of me
screamed like a schoolgirl in hell.
I was drunk.
many were worried about the depth
to which I had fallen, but at that time
and in that club I only saw
the Hawk Headed One and his brother the Beast
tearing some ass and making it look
as easy as pie. Hell, lemon meringue...
They were sweet easy on the midcard boys
dropped them and stomped them with gentility
no one doubted that the duo would win
but still i howled hard to help them escape
the minor holds, the temporary tangles.
i had to believe they had a chance
to lose by fluke, bad booking, or else
I would not have been Worker or even Mark
I bowed to the Bible, as Mike would have liked
and became like a little child again
believing that my Boys could lose
so their victory would mean much more
when they did not. Sweet zaftig wife
of my brother kept clicking and capturing
the images of these Warriors
who once owned more, I must admit
of hard cut abs and attitude
than they did that night, but what they had
was far more than enough to shut
their mildly malignant opponents down.
To be beat by the Beast and the Hawk Headed One
is not a defeat, but blessing, friends—
the jobbing is easy and the bodyslams light.
But now the Hawk Headed One is done.
no major thing. He just lay down
and didn’t arise. No juice or junk
or suspicious hotel room hijinks, friends,
or so I hope hard. His wife was there
He just felt bad, so the Hawk lay down.
It could happen to any of us,
Worker or Mark, and ultimately
it will be happening, my friends...
just like you know on the Monday night show
there’s bullshit coming anytime—
a run-in, shmoz, or screw job, babe;
few of us get a good clean match...
Oh, just to be pinned honestly,
as Hawk was pinned by heavyweight
heart-kill death, I could die with that...
and meet the Boys backstage as he
will meet them all. Is meeting them—
Lou Thesz, Haystacks, Eddie Graham,
Gordon Solie, Andre, Fritz,
and most of his children. Hennig, Rude,
Elizabeth, Pillman, Junkyard Dog,
Yokozuna, and some young guy
we’ll never know who won’t make the card
where he was booked for gas bucks home
in some small town with no TV
or intelligible angles. But now this boy
and hundreds more will all welcome Hawk
to Wrestler Heaven, or they will not—
maybe there is no Heaven at all
for Workers or Marks or anyone else;
maybe mine is a simpleminded wish
for a simple but complicated man
who made me believe him invincible
rushing the ring with his brother the Beast
black chords falling like the hammer of Thor—
No one could stand when they came in.
Goodbye, Hawk. If i still wore
the makeup, it’d be running now.
