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