persons of flesh

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kryptonite

sometimes she just gets tired
her little world snags on the edge
it doesn’t want to spin
neither does she
kryptonite sometimes settles across her womb
in the dark where light once lived
a spec of universal magic
slapping weightless color across heaving walls
offers no more portals
and the face present for all
is its most false
on the other side
baby gorilla
baby chimp in prisma on construction paper done a few years back-thank you

commandeering a seahorse

have I lost you
is there no going back
will a bat-signal to Superman
reverse the planet
and give me one last chance
I’ll be brave this time
leaping into the frigid waters
to commandeer Aquaman’s seahorse
I’ll telepathically summon all manner of swimming creature
to aid my plight
then I’ll leap from the waves
higher than Lone Ranger
donning Iron Man’s suit
and jettison into the night sky
once in the black, I’ll lasso every star
ricochet the multitude across the oceans
to illuminate the entire planet
and when you’re found
I’ll rip open my flying cape and show you
the words sewn into the lining
hidden there
for fear I’d fall from the sky
if I’m honest now
I won’t need my flying cape

just as long as you’re a superhero too

Seabiscuit Shell

Seabiscuit Shell

other than being a somewhat seahorse, the art doesn’t really jive with the words, it will have to do for now until I have more time to create more art – sorry:)

I’d like to be a superhero…

I’d like to be a superhero
wear tall boots
a big letter on my chest
xray vision
I’d like to be a superhero
stronger than one thousand men
smarter than a microprocessor
unstoppable
I’d like to be a superhero
jet across earth in milliseconds
fly through storm clouds
fearless
I’d like to be a superhero
plough the ocean depths
converse with sentient beings
intoxicating
I’d like to be a superhero
and go unseen
down those white halls
and wrestle her sickness away

Aqueus

Aqueus

Thank you. May you dream of good health for all in your life…
Aqueus sketched several months ago, published in a previous post

Super Heroes Shouldn’t Own Cows

The year is 1968 and I’m the strongest kid in kindergarten. Today my title will be put to the test. My class will be making buttermilk then enjoying the results. Crisp, blue and white boxes of saltine crackers are stacked atop a nearby classroom table. My teacher, Ms. T informs the class, “Saltines are absolutely perfect with sweet buttermilk.”

Thirty-one little mouths are salivating for this delectable, creamy treat, but first comes the challenge of making the stuff. Ms. T pours milk and what she calls ‘buttermilk magic’ into the big jar until its almost bursting. She places, then twists the gold lid with the long crank handle on the buttermilk jar. She gives the giant jar a thorough shake to ensure nothing leaks.

Ms. T regards us thirty-one, drooling tikes sitting pretzel-legged on the classroom carpet, “Okay children, time to line up for churning. Now remember, as I explained this morning, the buttermilk will get thicker and thicker as it is mixed, so I’d like the girls to lineup first then the boys. I’ll pass the jar to each of you. You will turn the crank a few times then I’ll pass the jar on to the next student in line.”

From the carpet, my hot little hand shoots up like a cheese knife slicing soft gouda. “Ehem, excuse me Ms. T, I’d like to line up with the boys.”

“No.”

“Ms. T, I’d like to line up with the boys.”

“No.”

“Ms. T–” I was just going to tell my teacher how strong I really am, when she grabs my little arm. She proceeds to line up the girls first, then the boys, then places me at the absolute end of the line. I’d be the last to turn the crank. It was my proudest moment.

My knees are whacking into each other and my feet are tap dancing on the tile. The jar of golden buttermilk is making its way down the line. The biggest boys near the end of the line are straining.Their faces are shades darker, several are breaking a sweat. Me, I’m not worried at all. I just want to have at that jar. The husky boy in front of me managed four turns of the crank then quit. Ms. T takes the jar from his exhausted paws.

I grab the jar from Ms. T, tucking it into my side, like a running back securing the pigskin as if his life depended on it. This is the moment of truth for the strongest kindergartener. I start imagining myself a superhero with a plaid cape and red PF Flyers. I firmly grasp the wooden handle, take a deep breath and force the handle clockwise. It goes slowly and it’s difficult to move. I go for a second turn which is equally as trying but I push into a third rotation. I’m biting my lower lip except I don’t notice. I’m going for a fourth. My grip hand is sweating and the other hand holding the jar is too. There is a small slip, then a drop, then CRASH…

I learned three very important lessons on that ominous kindergarten day: The first is never give small children large glass jars. The second is without sweet, creamy buttermilk, saltine crackers are very dry. And finally, superheroes should never own cows.
Hiding Bull