Blood Debt Letter

After the Magni and Modi boss battle in God of War, 2018

Dear Tom Hiddleston,

I played a game
and killed a god
on the TV yesterday,
axed him cleaner than Roseanne
in the static temple,
the irony finer than the iron
of my weapon in his fallen
body. He was the son
of Thor, a lesser god
of Aesir, blond-haired
and muscle ripping through
him like lightning—every
Nordic stereotype bulging
to form him complete
with a wintry backdrop.
In my defense, for those few
minutes, it was god against god,
bastard son against son tracing
a bloody plotline 
to the battle of fathers
and it is funny how gods
aren’t exempt from inheriting
the weight of their fathers,
how the only thing worth
bartering there is blood.
I don’t know about deities
but the human body holds
two liters: enough to make
a mess and enough to make
the organs run but never enough
to pay a father’s debt.