Archive
08/27/08 - (2)
Golden Age
Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster, Those two Jewish teens from Cleveland, Who, in 1932, gestated and hatched Superman,
Have, by now, been honorably installed In the comic-book icon-heroes' hall of fame (Albeit meagerly recompensed, in their lifetimes),
For their stunning, if unlikely, contribution to history: Kal-El, survivor of the doomed planet Krypton, Who would be adopted by Jonathan and Martha Kent
(Farmers living, innocuously, in Smallville, Kansas) And eventually leave rural America, for the urban hustle Of World War II Metropolis,
To work for editor Perry White's Daily Planet — Mild-mannered reporter Clark Kent Doubling as mankind's moral compass, shield against evil.
OK! OK! Spare me the histrionics, the tired hyperbole. I've heard the bullshit, the overblown accolades, From acned high-school kids bored with video games, life,
Captivated by the captioned panels of graphic novels Depicting the awesome feats of the Man of Steel, Who's endowed with x-ray vision and the ability to fly. Cut the crap! I can't take any more of this escapism, Especially in the face of Vladimir Putin, Osama bin Laden, And perniciously murderous, if clueless, George W. Bush,
Who put Ultra-Humanite, Prankster, Brainiac, Bizarro to shame, For their nonfictional crimes against humanity, Far beyond the squared off edges of pulp-paper pop culture.
I'm not too damn impressed, moved, inspired When my thirty-one-year-old son suggests I invest in DC Comics Or when he tells me the Golden Age is alive and well.
Hell, I'm living in a world of suicide-bombing psychovillains And loose-cannon Lex Luthor presidents. Today's Earth, to Superman, is weapons-grade kryptonite.
08/27/08 - (2)
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