Cat Woman’s sexy. Batman’s svelt
in cape and leotard and belt.
Superman in colors bright,
looks dashing flying in to fight.
But Underdog’s a lesser sort.
Sorta puny, sorta short.
His uniform? He doesn’t care.
He’s happy in his underwear.
For alternate photos for this prompt, go HERE. The prompt today is underdog.
The Prompt: A Bird, a Plane, You!––You get to choose one superpower. Pick one of these, and explain your choice:
I can’t think of any power greater than that of being able to make two people agree with each other. Imagine its impact on negotiations between countries as well as with terrorist organizations such as Isis. The only problem would be the life I’d have to live to make use of those powers. I would have to be a politician or lawyer in order to have access to people who can really make a worldwide difference, and with this power, I would be so effective that I doubt I’d have much of a personal life of my own as I’d always be traveling to solve one dispute or another.
On a personal level, to really enable people to see where those with opposing viewpoints are coming from would be of such immediate help that I can imagine being called in to mediate all sorts of disagreements between neighbors, friends and relatives. Messy divorces would be a thing of the past around me–either the divorce itself or the bickering over a settlement. Schoolyard bullies might be better understood and quashed. Gang activity could be ameliorated. Donald Trump could be brought to his knees and silenced, hopefully.
World peace would be reason enough to sacrifice my other two major “wishes” of being able to time travel and speak any language in the world. Guess I’ll have to save those wishes for the next inevitable repeat of this prompt.
This is the prompt: “I challenge you to write a persona poem — that is, a poem in the voice of a particular person who isn’t you. But I’d like you to choose a very particular kind of person. How about a poem in the voice of a superhero (or a supervillain)?”
Confessions of a Retired Superheroine
What’s happening tomorrow?
the same thing that happens every Friday
since I was forced into retirement last year.
I’m going to go make my collections.
It will be my first day
off the diet
I’ve been on for a week––
and my leathers aren’t at all as close-fitting
as they were before,
so I deserve a small reward.
I’ve washed my hair—
Well, no surprise. I do every day.
A bit OCD on that activity,
but today I washed all of it.
Every inch.
Ears, too.
I can’t remember when I first thought
of the lucrative business
I’ve been opurrrrrrrating since my retirement;
but I do remember that tomorrow is the day
I go from door-to-door doing collections.
I usually dress in leathers,
which I look pretty good in for a mature sex-kitten.
No, not a biker chick.
I am more of a femme fatale
with a haunting and mesmerizing voice.
Everyone says it sends chills down their back–
a sort of backyard Les Mis.
My parking garage is six blocks away,
so I take a shortcut: leaping over walls,
soft-toeing it along the top edge of fences.
Sometimes I crouch in the bushes,
waiting for strangers to pass.
As I do, I sharpen my fingernails—
a weapon no one can take away from me.
Anyway, what good would a gun be
for a woman with no opposable thumbs?
Hey. Don’t feel sorry for me, okay?
I’m Puurrrrrfectly happy with my lot in life.
I’m puurrrrfect without them.
Sushi? Yes.
A trip to the beach? No.
Not unless there is raw fish involved
that I don’t have to catch myself!
I’m a night person.
I sleep for most of the day
and go out every night.
I am sexy, fit and nimble.
I fill out my leathers in all the right places.
I can jump to the ground from a rooftop,
land on my feet and be off before you see
any more of me than a shadow.
I am a thief by birth and inclination, and I
I pre”fur” my daily fare to be purrrrrrloined.
I can take swift revenge and kill mercilessly,
or curl up and enjoy
a long petting session,
as docile as you please.
Actually, I don’t know why I’m giving you this sales pitch.
I usually ignore people,
so when I actually notice them,
they are honored.
The diet? Well, low-protein, low carb and low fat.
That leaves nothing but grass, right?
And the problem with that is that everyone thinks you are sick
and so tries to trick you into a dose of this or that.
The cod liver oil isn’t bad,
but I’ve never developed a taste for Pepto Bismol.
My neighbor sneaked some into my cream a few months ago
and I gagged so hard I coughed up a hare-ball.
Just the nose and whiskers, actually, but it created a sensation, nonetheless.
I was at a party and no one was yet drunk enough
to take it in their stride.
Anyway, I’ve gotten distracted.
I’m just going to smooth my hair a bit
and then go to bed and get rested up
for tomorrow’s collections.
What kind of brilliant female was I to create a job for myself like this?
“Cat Woman Pest Disposal––You trap them, we collect them.”
I actually get paid for going from door to door,
collecting a course here and a course there.
No of course, no matter how hungry I am after my week’s fast,
I will not reward myself in my client’s presence.
I always wait until I get to my catmobile to have my first nibble.
After all, even a retired superheroine has to watch her image.
lifelessons - a blog by Judy Dykstra-Brown 