You promised we’d find ourselves

an illustrator but you’re content

to peel an orange as buildings topple

and search parties arrange

to scrabble through rubble.

You are uninterested. I can tell

anyone we meet our real names. You won’t

fuss if I remove the cape, the mask.

Will you weep, should I return alone

to the catastrophe of mere citizenry?

I! Your sidekick whose utility

belt holds your necessaries –

moist towelettes, mini toothbrush,

tweezers, Tums, Tic-Tacs.

You laugh at it now: That?

That fanny pack? But you promised

to teach me the grappling hook

and how the jet car works.

You guaranteed me one groggy night

I’d regain consciousness to notice

my limbs bound at their ends

and my body tossed into a wire basket

descending into a smelting basin

in a steel refinery or other enemy dark place.