Real Life Superheroes.
Real. Life. Superheroes.
At first
nobody thought it was real
not even half the people
who did it.
Sure
every once in a while
you get a freak
who doesnt know the rules
who dares to play the fool
who walks out the door
in a shiny spandex suit
and calls himself a superhero.
But it’s an isolated incident
a random encounter
with a lone nut
who shouts a snappy slogan
and wanders off
into the night.
But then there’s another
and another
and another
and before you know it
they’re forming teams
and talking on TV
and patroling the streets
armed with video cameras
and backpacks full of food
and latex body armor
and canisters of pepperspray
and stun guns
and real guns
a loaded shotgun
brandished at an unarmed man
for revving his motorcycle
a little too loud.
And then it gets real
a little too real
and we ask ourselves
who watches the watchmen
these self appointed watchmen
who patrol our streets
with masks on their faces
and weapons in their hands
and bleeding hearts
buried beneath black body armor.
People ask me
why I wear a costume.
I answer with a question.
Why do you wear a costume
a crisp suit and tie
a freshly pressed dress
polo shirt and khakis
T-shirt and jeans?
At the end of the day
it’s all a costume
part and parcel
of a performance
that ties you
to a particular place and time
a particular role
you must play
often times
with the logo
of a transnational corporation
emblazoned on your chest
like the coat of arms of a knight
singing the praises
of your feudal lord.
The difference is that
I designed my costume
and my costume
designs me.
It sets me free
reminding me
who I am
and what I do
and why I do it.
And every superhero
is a different person.
And I have no control
over what the others do.
But isn’t that
the way it should be?
Some of us
bring warm food to empty bellies
dry socks to cold, wet feet
a watchful eye to dark alleys
safe shelter to those who have suffered
at the hands of man
and the punishments of the elements.
And some of us
wander in a haze
adrenaline pumping in our veins
weapons hot in our hands
or itching on our belts
waiting for a reason
to lay down the law
to bring the hurt
to a world
that has hurt us
to the point
where we only feel safe
wandering the streets
with training under our belts
and weapons in hand
and a sense that we are the law
the only law
a real life Batman
or Punisher
come to bring justice
to a world gone mad.
Sometimes
putting on a costume
inspires us
to rise like a phoenix
renewed and reborn
ablaze with the hot light
of a new life.
And sometimes
it draws us down
drifting down dark alleys
buzzing with fears
and stifling tears
lost in the fog of war
wondering and wandering
until we wind up
in jail
or worse.
Some people say
I should walk away
because others have gone astray.
But i say
I will find my own way.
This costume
is more real to me
than the wasteland
of retail uniforms
and skyscraper cubicles
that have been offered to me
as an allegedly sane alternative.
And sometimes
the costume
hangs heavy on my shoulders.
And sometimes
when people look to me
eyes wide with hope and expectation
I have nothing to say
and want to just walk away
and hang up my cape
and never wear it again.
But then
I feel it again
and realize
that what i feel
is more real
than any retail job
or reality TV show
or other way to go
with the flow
of a society
fueled by burning oil
and burning books
and learning to look
at the world
through the lens
of Fox News.
And so
I let it all go.
I put on my costume.
Green shirt. Green headband.
Black pants. Black boots.
A belt full of tools
and community brochures.
I walk out my door
and do more
than i did before
and thats enough
to make all the difference.