Obverse, Maybe

I used to be a superhero. Soon
Enough, I gave it up. I liked
My cape and flying over crowded
Streets to battle villains. I would
Snatch them by their collars,
Petrify them as I pulled them
Through the air to face the local
Magistrates, who'd set their bail.
They couldn't pay, so off they'd
Go to jail, and, afterward, the
Little weasels from the press
Would ask, "Were you afraid?"
"Of course not; no." "How
Did you sense that you were
Needed?" "Well..." The
Question made me wonder.
Who was being saved from
Whom? A couple from a
Guarded condo, living off
Of money they were skimming
Out of pension plans, would
Bleat, and I would rescue them
From wretches without jobs or
Money, trash I'd take to see be
Tossed into receptacles, in
Which they mouldered,
Whether they were proven
Guilty, or were not, and, in
The end, I lost my bearings.
Who was crooked? Who was
Straight? I took off my hero
Suit, and folded it. I kept the
Cape, which I have wrapped
Around my face. I do not fly.
I stalk the streets. The weasels
Never look for me. They write
About me from their bunkers,
Saying I'm no superhero.
I'm a terrorist.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 25 times
Written on 2013-05-04 at 01:55

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