A poem in free verse
by Jen "Jenny Wren" Clare jen_wren@hotmail.com
He could have been a rainspout
pouring water fallen from the roof
of heaven to the roof of the building
and pouring it down on the top of your head.
That would be rude, though, and they
never cleaned the gutters.
He could have been a figure with
outstretched tongue to scare the evil spirits,
but that would be rude too, and he'd never found
a proper toothbrush for stone teeth.
So instead he was a hero, with wings
instead of a cape, and a face
that was a mask all by itself.
He had no secret identity,
since reality was strange enough.
He ran through shadows and darkened alleys,
but since he never saw the sun,
it wasn't so strange after all.
TO be a hero, to have high ideals and goals
reaching highest, wasn't so hard if
you spent all your time on the roof.