1960s superhero trumpets explode into
the air accompanied by shrapnel from
the cold war era steel door
Mr. Walsh's squeeze theorem soporific is
hurled unconscious onto the floor
knit black ski cap and $ bag spill out over the
suppresséd green carpet
the heel of a stiff leather boot
mounts the crook's spine in climax
but instead of denouement there is rising action
of my eyes up her tight bound white thigh
and higher
she doesn't need a cape
her mahogany hair gets the job done
it seems like it'd set her back in fist fights
but she has bigger things to worry about
like how does one fit handcuffs around a
rogue calc lesson for instance
but no bothering with hows she restrains him anyway
and hauls him to the cage to
give him a taste of his own medicine
justice flavor
it tastes like the heat on the back of your neck
when you look up and see Mr. Walsh
pink faced and round like a guitarist's left thumb
roaring at you for drooling on
the laminate desk