Once, I truly loved Superman.
Now, I judge Clark Kent.
Such is the eclipse
of boys & men—sons & their fathers.

A picture of you on the dart board—
I aim for the eyes.
These days, I look just like you,
the inverted husk.
I fear the wine in these veins
poured from your chalice.

I scream at your skull:
“I don’t want this crown.”
Yet heavy are the eyes
that wear the wool
& I run faster
in my hamster wheel inheritance.

I miss your hands most.
Small, thick, knuckled with skill,
calloused by experience.
I named the left Comfort,
the other Discipline.
You left more wrong than right.

Dear Superman—I still love you.
To prove it, I cut you down at the knee
so that I might stand as more.
Forgive me, Clark Kent.