Two Poems
A simple return from a personal burnout.
It might sound odd, but I was born with an extra appendage, attached to my arm. Contained within, a special gland secretes a flow of superpowers — extra strength, laser eyes… the lot — at my command.
My mother passed this unique evolution to me; a gift, she says, and one she used to battle evil in the name of justice.
Now, as I turn 18, I make the same decision. I don a cape of Mum’s design, a mask of fitted, shock resistant plastic, and the tool belt from my dad’s decaying shed.
Batman? Moody, lavish prick.
Hulk? Needs a therapist.
Spider-Man’s a little boy, but I am well prepared.
I press the lumpen tube that hangs from my left bicep; grit my teeth. I think of flying, through the clouds, and feel the wind beneath me.
Any second now, the latent power will explode, and I’ll be sailing on the mist, t’ward injustice on the march.
*
At the scene of the suicide, Batman was confused as he pulled the makeshift cape — a tablecloth — from the cadaver.
Beneath it, clear as day, was a tourniquet around the arm, a needle, and its broken plunger, feet away, upon the ground.
