the message of every saturated
Saturday morning American import,
a call to action to try and fix
a world held together by outlines
and acetate cells, giving children
the promise of powers, illusions
of movement, simplified solutions.
Not every problem can be solved
with laser beams or mind control.
Villains are not obvious, no dark
suits, no laughter or eyes glowing
red like dead stars. They live
among us, changing each second, by
each action, no masks but sometimes
transforming into heroes then back.
The background detail is never
deliberate, never foreshadows
future episodes or story arcs.
Potential does not always pervade.
My mouth opens, closes, but the dub
is lazy and no sound comes out.
Prompt was “Reuse refurbish, recycle! Take the last line of yesterday’s poem and use it as the first line of today’s poem” from Poetry in the time of being alone” group