She is
the Ethereal Wonder
and I am her trusty sidekick
Dream Boy.
Her obsequious protégé,
I chop at the shadows
of the baddies
and glass ceilings
to which she delivers
swift kicks and merciless punches.
In the Dream Mobile,
my eyes are at her hand
on the stick shift,
her thumb flipping the
oil slick switch and pressing it—
the sounds of cars screeching and
careening off cliffs
fail to deter me from imagining
the gloved hand in mine.
Off she darts into the fray,
and I hear
the shocked public
gasp,
and the narrator expound,
“Faster than men less qualified but
more likely to get the job,
as powerful as histories
of suffragettes and debutantes,
able to leap over the confines
of impressed domesticity
in a single bound!”
Into her arms fall
the thankful victims
at the last second,
and the baleful embrace
of malevolence
gropes at thin air
where the Ethereal
Wonder once was.
She receives thanks
with a wave of a gloved
hand and bounties
of humility.
She is no damsel in distress,
she is no mere love interest,
and to be her partner
in this great dangerous adventure
will be the most heroic story
ever told—
And perhaps one day she will need saving,
and I will rise to the occasion—
owing my strength, wisdom, and ability
to all she has ever taught me
of being a hero.
