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Death of  a  Super  Hero   By  Lanette  Cadle  

_________________   She  didn’t  die  so  much  as  ceased     to  matter.  Her  costume     dwindled  to  a  few  rags  and  spangles   and  she  didn’t  leap  tall  buildings     with  the  same  joie  de  vivre  as  she  did   before  the  muttering,  the  who  does  she       think  she  is,  Superman?  Batman?  She  needs   to  get  a  life,  something  she  thought  she  had     but  was  mistaken.  She  takes  the  bus     to  crime  scenes  now,  arriving  late,  her  hair     sparking  flame  until  she  is  asked  to     take  notes  for  the  coroner  or  fetch  coffee,     and  when  noticed  at  all  it’s  always     Who’s  the  gal  with  the  mazumbas?  Boy,       would  I  like  to  bang  on  her  maracas.       Super-­‐‑hearing  can  be  a  curse.  Lately,       she  uses  her  x-­‐‑ray  vision  to  avoid  crowds.   Her  superfriends  retired  their  tights     to  be  teachers,  housewives,  and  nurses,   not  that  there’s  anything  wrong  with  that,  but     it  must  be  hard  to  do  all  the  dishes  by  hand   and  not  rock  the  cradle  from  across  this  room.     So  she  heats  coffee  with  her  heat  ray     and  invisibly  slips  paper  clues  into  pockets.  

Yellow Chair  Review     29  

Yellow Chair Review: Superheroes  

Welcome to Yellow Chair Review's Superheroes issue. For information on contributors please visit

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