And She Didn’t Have a Clue about His Super Seed

 

They walked together through a cityscape,

A present-day, a Tuesday city, towers

Of Wednesday windows…not a pretty scape

Of Tidal Basin cherry trees and flowers,

But not bizarre, surrealistic, awed

Like toadstool workers set with mushroom eyes.

The avenues were not Good Friday odd,

No taxi drivers drowning in the skies,

No prostitutes with spikes right through their palms,

An ordinary Cleveland day, no need

For Superman or choirboys crooning psalms,

A day for Clark and Lois Lane to breed.

  The dream was Easter Gotham lacking strife.

    The couple yawned as Kent took Lois for his wife.

 

Crossing the Street into the 1920s

And then they crossed the street and stumbled on

The lurking truth of towns and cities, hair

In armpits clothed in suits, a penis prawn

The smells of seafood walking with the pair

Of shapes like kidneys in a hairy sack

For every couple and a hairy slit

Beside each little shrimp.  It isn’t meek.

It’s merely waiting for the undressed tit

To turn it into Shelley’s monster eel.

This truer district throws up monster kids,

Thalidomide their parentage, a meal

For mobster kingpins cursing on the slide.

  No sanitorium envisaged here

    Was in the dream, no Ellen White with beer.

~ Phillip Whidden