On Being a Hero

I’ve so often dreamed of heroism,

Haven’t you?

How superb to ride

In an open car

Down Broadway!

Imagine the thousands

Upon thousands!

Imagine the young children

Grasping a parent’s hand

Or sitting astride their shoulders

Hoping for a look at me.

One or two eyes I’d catch

And wink

Sharing my wealth

While enhancing it.

Imagine the older ones,

The boys, clinging to tree branches

Or signposts,

And waving, ecstatic

At my passing.

The men, of course,

Are mostly stolid

Perhaps skeptical

Perhaps doubtful

Perhaps admiring

Or envious.

How wonderful, how fabulous

To take that ride!

And then, afterward,

To return to the hotel room,

By yourself,

And order lunch from room service.

Perhaps I’d switch on the television

To confirm my fame.

To nap then

In a lovely soft bed,

The finest quality certainly;

And then to wash

And prepare for the gala.

Of course, there would be

A grand dinner

In the grand banquet room.

Hundreds of strangers would jostle to meet me.

I would be polite,

Cordial and charming.

Then I would return to my

Lovely suite

To sleep

Alone.

9/18