After the world’s been conquered,
An astronaut holds the fanged head
Of his final victim against his waist
Like a helmet, its window reflecting
Stardust and exploding galaxies.
He doesn’t want to mess up his hair
By making a stranger’s head his own,
But he wants to make one last sprawl
Toward happiness. One last feat of strength.
To rocket-ship over the sliced bones of
Someone else’s loved ones. To bring women
Roller-skating to him, under the spinning
Neon drive-in sign, moon full, dodging
Puddles to reach their Superman.
He won’t let them wear the tights.
He enters the restaurant and his 1950’s
Audience cheers, happy as clowns.
The one with the Superman curl
Wants to use cardboard caskets
For soldiers, so there’s less division
Between them and the land
