No, it’s not another poem about Flash boys and luminous men, although there is potential there. “Flash” just means I wrote this in an instant right after the precipitating event. It’s even time-stamped.
At this black hour
The bird first takes to song
His voice remembering
Bright the dawn
A mea culpa.
Try as I might lately to keep up, I slip behind on reading blogs. Apart from normal everyday (he says, tongue firmly planted in cheek) life and trying to keep writing, I’m scrambling to find a new job, and recently acquired a nasty bug. My doctor assures me it’s just a cold, but drama queen that I am I bought a headstone just in case. I didn’t have them fill in the year of my death, because I’m not a betting man. But I did have an epitaph inscribed:
He lived among heroes
When people talk about me long after I’m gone — maybe even at dinner after the funeral — maybe they’ll have some fun trying to figure out what I meant by that. You see, I don’t generally have a reputation as a rosy optimist. It’s my “Rosebud” moment.
Quick, true story.
I went to a local convenience store yesterday and the kid — ahem, young man — behind the counter was wearing a Captain America t-shirt.
“I like your shirt,” I said.
“Thanks. It’s my roommate’s,” he said with a slight blush. “All my clothes are in the laundry.”
I thought, well isn’t that exactly how you become a hero. Maybe not a superhero, that takes secret government programs, jacked-up spiders or exploding homeworlds. But you get my drift.