Barbie screams for help in her dream house
as you rush to the scene, a towel tied loosely over your shoulders,
a pillow beneath your shirt in place of a Kevlar vest,
and only oversized sunglasses covering your identity.


As you rush to save her, Elmo – your first rescue –
clings tightly beneath your underarm, bobbing gently
as you scale the ottoman and jump from couch to couch.


To the unseeing world you are Batman,
Wolverine, the Flash, and all of the Avengers –
ordinary men made heroic through radiation and tragedy.


But I see beyond the alter ego, past the acrobatics
and death-defying maneuvers that merit the oohs
and aahs within our general definition of heroic.


I see a boy truly worth admiring, the boy I’d call for help
if needed, because in you I see all boys, In you
I see the beauty of biology, the lovely product of a number
of atoms I will never have enough lifetimes to count.


If you could only see the splendid hue of your wide-eyed
innocence as you tie your teddy bear villain to the chair leg,
unaware that the seemingly simple steps of your chubby fingers
require a million more steps within you.


The sheer energy coursing from nerve to nerve
with each dip of your head and bow of your lashes
is more incredible than any power
induced by gamma rays or infected spiders.


When you place your hands at your waist in glorious victory
and lift each rain-booted foot over entire civilizations
of Lego people, I am made aware of the social circles
present within you, the cliques of tissues and cells
moving uniformly inside, carpooling toward their respective jobs,
their kinetic messages traveling faster than
the water-cooler gossip of any terrestrial worker.


And while you separate your plastic dinosaur army
by rank – in this case color, shape, size, and title –
you show the world that the truths you contain
in your four year old brain could rival
any super computer or evil mastermind.


A Pomerian named Lucy yips at your feet,
making me keenly impressed by the relatively few genetic signals
that separated you from her in creation, the same genes
that invented the stormy gray novelty of your eyes.


In truth, being superhuman is only a lofty dream
because the awe of being human
is our most overlooked achievement.

But we do not realize this truth until
we’re older – If we ever do – once we’re past
the age of dress-up, too old to announce this fact
by wearing tights in our favorite colors
and a cape with our own initials.

. ha ha... they said that there were, "too many consonants in slavic surnames... just the surnames... clearly... they never read a word in welsh: ymysg y cymraeg: among the welsh.

                                       well,
we came,
we saw...
and then replied...

so, why, don't,
you,
   *******,
to, your,
glorious,
judeo-christian,
heritage lands?

h'america...
auf-auf! australia?
no?
   hesitant?

     north of england
the bed-rock
of the world, eh?

oh... i see...
just like my people
were displaced
by the sloth war
of economics?
that... "kind of, thing"?

i see...
you know...
right now...
i'm be called lucky...
if i were
a fisherman...
from these english isles...
if you get my drift...

i read some shakespeare
and then i start to confuse
hamlet with macbeth...
and the rest,
akin to a roman heritage...
i forget...
   if i were a body
sent ****** into this language
and subsequent usage...
i'd be tattooed from forehead
to the toes and heel
with artifacts of,
"concern"...

   no roman stood in these
hinter-lands...
but a norseman did,
many years after
the postponing
of the myth of Arthur...

this ****** war,
between a saxon
and a swabian,
or rather,
between a saxon and
a prussian...
prussian...
the pomerian kind...
they're not even,
exactly confiscate of
the categorical
agglomerate of german...

   i said!
    german on one hand,
on these isles...
no... there is no "there"...
alles hier!
         jetzt!
      
welsh: ymabod (here-being)
irish: anseobheith
cornish:
          obma-dos-ha-bos...
pict:
                       an-seo-a-bhith -
such, veracity of the already
given variety...
   coch-gwyn...
                                      ac glas...

of all the people
       among these isles...
only the welsh...
gwraidd-a-coeden
    (root and tree)...

        lwc-a-llewyrch...

see... i respect that...
who are the scots to moan...
forgetting their gaelic...
the dutch speak the lingua franca
of the english...
but they still, retain...
their native spreschen...
like the welsh...

   oh i'm pretty sure i can
say those words...
i'm used to...
   'there are too many consonants
in slavic surnames
from paul-land' -
ever think about looking
at welsh?!

   sheep-shaggers,
or...
bagpipe *******...
take your pick...

   this is going to be my future
hobby...
drink... and...
speak welsh words...
like a slav, i know what a "hollowed"
Y sounds like,
with no help of crutch vowel...
"sim"-r(a)eg...
          
the **** was i doing
in Edinburgh?!
i could have spent a well earned
time in Caerdydd
   - k(a/e)rd(Y)d "dyd" /
                             not 'did'.

well...
if the vikings didn't get rid
of these sax leeches...
i'll give it a shot...
   all i have to lose is...
a worth of an hour,
to sober up to.