TALES

The last few pages of my comic books
Suggested boney boys like me
Could rebound like wrestlers who invented
Thai boxing movies set against bulky bullies
Kicking sand into our faces.
There were other hints in pencil drawn pellet guns
Sent c.o.d from some benign sounding towns
In Montana, Michigan or Missouri –
From any place inside Superman’s earliest memories
Of being just Clark Kent…
Six foot bull whips curled like rattle snakes
Teasing the longing of frazzled teens
With thoughts of grandpa’s cat of nine tails;
Forked tongue bites which freezed dad and mom
When recounting stories of their punishments
While acting out in their parents’ eyes.
I was convinced that Superman and Batman
Energized thoughts like this,
And every kid could play the Green Hornet
At least one time in his life.

 Ken Siegelman
Brooklyn Poet Laureate