He dropped down from the monkey bars,
stomach slightly protruding from the bottom of his striped red and navy shirt,
“I could beat you up you know.”
“Yeah I know.”
“But I’m not gonna.”
pudgy little kid, got it all figured out,
knows the world like the bottom of his cereal bowl,
“oh yeah? why not?”
“because real heroes don’t hurt normal people; and me, I’m a real hero.”
“you’re right they don’t.”
he flexed his arms,
he could lift a car if he wanted,
leap over buildings if he needed,
fly if that was his true wish,
he went back to the monkey bars,
his belly button was hanging out and his neck had disappeared.
“I gotta go save that guy, that’s what us heros do.”
“yeah, go get ’em.”
he swung away, a bulging mass of imagination,
and I just sat there remembering how
simple it was when I thought that
heroes didn’t hurt anyone undeserved.
Little Spud In The Big Apple 