BPR 41 | 2014
Batman hugged her tall gaunt Robin to her hip,
but their torsos twisted away into a gnarled
asymmetric Y against a backdrop
of black capes. They held, held, held
a smile at least part grimace as tinfoil crowns
slipped sideways down their heads.
For thirty years I've remembered laughing at them
when I smiled their idiot rictus at cops who caught
me sleeping in my car, at men who gave me work
involving shovels, at women who'd stopped loving me
or whom I never loved.
God of that laughing moment,
have I ever laughed a blameless laugh? Have you?