The Day Saved

Wonder woman has nothing to do.
Sat on her back porch with her underwear

still on the outside and a beer
in her hand, she knows: Metropolis

is fine. The Riddler’s dead. All the vampires
exploded into a dustbowl and now,

she must put her underwear back
on the inside, fish out those contacts

and go grocery shopping in sensible shoes.
There is nothing else to do. It really is

such a mad cliché, but she wishes,
she wishes, someone somewhere would cry,

dangle from a building, rob Fort Knox,
implode – someone would need her

to stand tall and whip in the breeze
with the cloak and the hair and, well,

she knows: sooner or later, everyone
picks their way across the glass.