At fade out it’s always the same:
Music worthy of a tragedy
—American Style—gently
lulls the camera to the horizon
until the solitary man and his knapsack
are lost to us for another week.
Beset on all sides, unable
To escape, even from himself,
Injustice plagues his blood until
His sinews stretch and pull
And muscles swell, his green
Skin and unruly hair a metaphor
For that which we all long:
The gift and curse of righteous indignation
We allow only superheroes.
