before bedtime, i watched an internal struggle between heroes and villains
giving it all for kids who knew only violence and illusions of stardom.
demanding PG-14 bladejobs and figure-four leg locks on men who
i believed deserved hell for belittling men; underdogs that understood.
naive and juvenile eyes fixated between storylines of retribution and
conquering Goliath; the crowd going wild for victorious introverts.
aorta discharges aligning with near-falls and close finishes as
The Biggest Little Man manages to slide the shoulder up.
outbursts of frustration as villains i initially resented once again
conquer my favorite – reruns of Seinfeld, the clock yearning
ten-year-olds to head for bed. a new episode of cartoons to catch at 7am.  
frustrations i would revisit and repair immediately
through a 40+ action figure extravaganza.
those moments on Friday nights, i remember most;
nights where i enter a space where bad guys can’t run.
a place where the scrawny little Asian boy can finally win.
every Friday, my father is the villain, and i’m the hero.
the one who finally pins him for a three count to bring him back home.
on nights where light and reality is no longer an issue;
imagination plastering false prophecies through a 50” HDTV.