A poem on idolatry and repentance…
I stopped in silence on the corner,
As I watched Superman stumble out of the bar,
His eyes emptied of their stars and stuttering
With six glasses of Kryptonite.
He swung his strong arm around the street lamp,
Guffawed a wet vomit on the sidewalk,
Then hacked his spit back through his nose to burn his lungs.
Passers by halted as he threw up again,
His x-ray vision malfunctioning, now
A sterile gaze frantic for the trash bin.
With his left hand, he clumsily groped for his red cape
To wipe the mealy puke from his lips,
And the ladies on the corner softly covered their own mouths in shame.
We noticed his look had lost that Clark Kent cut,
The sharp and dapper face of a hero, and his cheekbones,
Once formed by flight,
Now stubbled lazily as his dingy suit glinted in the moonlight.
But as he bent over the trash can to ready himself for more wrenching,
I knew then what I must do,
What we all must do.
The crowd stared as I wrapped my arms around his neck,
Hugged our feeble god,
And pulled his cape knot tight against his throat
With all my evening strength.
One by one the audience faded away,
Abandoning the suffocating drunkard,
Bearing the startling truth that
We lose the things we idolize
And must choke the things we cherish most.