Francis Santaquilani's poem
In my superhero days
I would've been at your flat posthaste
Before the gas tingled
To yank your pretty head from the oven
Or at least suck the gas from your lungs.
With my worn cape in the closet now.
And just worn out.
Many failed rescue attempts behind me
Of you, and other dark and willowy beings
Well, mostly you.
I sit. So easy to let
The need to resuscitate pass.
An old man's disease.
Now, I would just fly past your flat. Or, maybe
Just look in through your window
And watch you hush, hush away
Your brilliant and fatal drive.
Then fly on to rescue others less worthy.
And with my eyes closed
I'd fill their lungs, pumping,
Pumping to the rhythm of the pistons
That drove your lush and dangerous machine.
Nov. 28th, 1998
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