Comic Man
Old man, dead pan.
Past your prime,
pumping iron all the time
everyday a bit lighter
than
yesterday.
Finish in the shower
cleaning your skin loose
on that tower
that maybe was
unremarkable in every way,
save the old marine
buzzcut
of now
missing hair,
gray,
as the far faded red field
in the small
dusty blue
and yellow
now ochre
logo
tattooed
to your upper bicep.
Superman it
advertised -
in small -
lived here,
one
perhaps
heroic moment.
Did you leap
tall buildings
to save
a friend
or dream of stopping crime?
Perhaps you thought
you saved Switzerland
from Nazi time
or told old Churchill
of a coming attack.
With such little reality
to hold,
why not
be bold
[...] Read more
poem by Joe Oppenheimer
Added by Poetry Lover
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