Waiting For Superman

My dad did always love his comics. The capes eventually lost their snap for me, though. This is what came out of it.

My dad loved comics.

They made him laugh, or his eyebrows pull down.

He was a cool guy, my dad. He wasn’t that concerned with economics.

He’s still around here, somewhere in this town.

I don’t see him anymore, though.

But I always remembered his comics, with Batman and the rest.

I miss him sometimes, when superheroes occupy my mind, and when I’m alone.

My mom, though, she put him to the test.

And he failed. Mom’s tastes with him never quite aligned.

I guess that could explain it.

The truth is, when I was younger, I used to wait.

For Superman, to come for me. To do away with that troublesome Brit.

The one my dad left mom for. Twelve to eight.

That’s when he left, after all the screaming and fights.

My sister says it was only a matter of time, simply fate.

I don’t believe her, not one bit, but she’s seen the sights.

Unlike me, I suppose. I used to love them.

My super heroes, I mean.

They were mine, but the time was 7:48 pm.

When he left, and they lost their appeal. On them, I no longer lean.

They aren’t my support, but inside is where it changed.

Their capes lost their snap, and my daddy went away.

And my superheroes were exchanged.

For other, real mentors, my reality no longer held at bay.

Even though, to me they were real.

They were my identity, who I am.

So now my sister smokes, she drinks, she steals.

I have no heroes, away them swam.

Perhaps across the River Nile, I didn’t watch.

No, I didn’t watch my life crumble.

Life isn’t a bedpost anymore, this mistake isn’t a notch.

This time, I’m not going to stumble.

So leave me the hell alone, I’m fine.

You’ll never find any evidence saying otherwise.

No bells ring for me, they never chime.

My sister, she’s ‘bad’, now, but she still cries.

So maybe the world isn’t that screwed up after all.

I can’t deny it, I’m waiting. For what, I don’t even know anymore.

And they’ve plummeted, my superheroes, I wince every time they fall.

I’ll tell you a secret, though: look for that key. If you don’t find it, break down the door.

Because I can’t afford to fail. And I’m still getting ready, but I’ll give you the truth:

Don’t leave it to fate, slide out of that booth.

Maybe I’ll try to, but I can’t. I’m stuck, waiting for a glimpse of tall and tan.

I’m waiting for my Superman.

The End

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