Superhero

 

I'm not a particularly intelli-

                                                gent

man, when all is done

I

            still

                        seem

to let my words

just

dribble

out.

Little pools of crass

                                    nothings

swirling with dust

            on the floor.

I

            promise,

when I mean

                        I love.

It's just spittle.

Word

            shrapnel.

But you'll reach

            across

                        enemy

                                    territory,

grab

            my

                        hand,

just tight

                                                enough.

Like you've missed me,

and every time

I

            fumble

you

            cradle the pieces.

I'm

            finished wondering

                        why you still reach for my hand.

 

First published in FLAPPERHOUSE, 2017

© 2016 Created by Chris Antzoulis