On being Super

Hero's are a dime a dozen

you can find them
glowing on any street corner

Tucking capes into jeans
smoothing down super stencilled names
on lean muscled chests


They chat and tap out tunes
with super feet
awaiting damsels
or dangers
or complete strangers
to call
or email
or yell from a tiny window far above

They smoke thin cigarettes
and show each other tattoo's
of serpents
of suns and stars
of hotted up cars
and holocausts.

And when the call comes
they strut and thrust out chests
in super duper
poses

And when the call comes
those that aren’t too drunk
or stoned beyond construction
or too caught up in metaphysical dissertations
and complex explanations

leap from super feet to the sky
cept those who cannot actually fly
they just flop onto the pavement
and bleed profusely
while the drunk stoned ones
laugh and point.

And those that can fly
assault the sky
with a myriad of colours and super powers
showering down on a helpless world
awaiting salvation

They seek and save
send those who are evil
to a waiting grave
all the while
offering mouthfuls
of white white teeth
and homilies
hewn from their mothers womb

In the after glow of redemption
the whole world spins in fawning gratitude
graciously forgetting to allude
to the damage caused
the broken cities
and shattered states
the flatten forests
and boiling seas

Super means collateral damage
is muttered by the grateful throng


Someone suggests
inventing a super song
to raise the praises to super hero's everywhere

But then

someone else suggests

that would be too much


Meanwhile
back on the street corner
the supers nudge each other and laugh
in loud reverberations
proudly show the new additions
to collections of scars
and indentations

<>No one questions
intent or direction
meaningless repetition
a growing infection
never mentioned
out loud.

Note: Absurd and utterly without meaning, this poem none the less,
wished to be written, to those of you who expect exemplary poetry
layered with brilliance at every turn, I apologise :)

<>