Show me a hero and I will write you a tragedy – F. Scott Fitzgerald
The day your adopted mom left you
at a Shell in exchange for fuel
the cars and hours slipped
into inked twilight and coyotes
yipped around emerald dumpsters
you began to wish not for the warm
back seat of her Volvo,
but the comics you left there:
Superman, Batman, and Spiderman
Left by each of their parents
to become something much greater
than a simple Hero.
As the last coyote sang to husk
of moon, you tugged the red cape
closer to your shoulders,
felt curb and sidewalk fall away
the world is so much smaller up
where you are born and held
tight by wind.